Lady Caroom made a delicate cannon from an awkward place, and concluded her break in silence. Then she leaned with her back against the table, chalking her cue. Her figure was still the figure of a girl she was a remarkably pretty woman. She laid her slim white fingers upon his coat-sleeve.
"I wonder," she said, softly, "whether you will ever tell me."
"If you look at me like that," he answered, smiling, "I shall tell you—a great many things."
Her eyes fell. It was too absurd at her age, but her cheeks were burning.
"You don't improve a bit," she declared. "You were always too apt with your tongue."
"I practiced in a good school," he answered.
"Dear me," she sighed. "For elderly people what a lot of rubbish we talk."
He shivered.
"What a hideous word," he remarked. "You make me feel that my chest is padded and my hair dyed. If to talk sense is a sign of youth, let us do it."
"By all means. When are you going to find me a husband for Sybil?"