"Sometimes. I am not always in the humor."
I looked at her long and thoughtfully. Her beauty was entirely the beauty of a young girl. There were no signs of late hours or anxiety in her face. She puzzled me more than ever.
"I wish I knew," I said, "exactly what you mean when you call yourself an adventuress."
She laughed.
"It means this," she explained: "To-night I have money in my purse, jewels on my fingers, a motor car to ride home in. In a week's time, if things went badly with us, I might have nothing. Then father or I, or both of us, would go out into the world to replenish, and from whomever had most of what we desired we should take as opportunity presented itself."
"Irrespective of the law?"
"Absolutely!"
"Irrespective of your sense of right and wrong?"
"My sense of right and wrong, according to your standards, does not exist."
I gave it up. She seemed thoroughly in earnest, and yet every word she spoke seemed contrary to my instinctive judgment of her. She pointed to the table.