He laughed at her, pleasantly but derisively.
"Time to think!" he repeated. "Why, I have never seen you serious for five minutes in your life, except when you've been adding up Louise's housekeeping-books!"
She threw her cigarette into the grate, swung round toward him, and looked steadily into his face.
"Haven't you?" she said. "I can be. I often am. It isn't my correct pose, though. People don't like me serious. If they take me out or entertain me, they think they are being cheated if I am not continually gay. You see what it is to have a reputation for being amusing! Louise keeps me by her side to talk nonsense to her, to keep her from being depressed. Men take me out because I am bright, because I save them the trouble of talking, and they don't feel quite so stupid with me as with another woman. My young man at Bath wants to marry me for the same reason. He thinks it would be so pleasant to have me always at hand to chatter nonsense. That is why you like me, too. You have been pitched into a strange world. You are not really in touch with it. You like to be with some one who will talk nonsense and take you a little way out of it. I am just a little fool, you see, a harmless little creature in cap and bells whom every one amuses himself with."
John stared at her for a moment, only half understanding.
"Why, little girl," he exclaimed, "I believe you're in earnest!"
"I am in deadly earnest," she assured him, her voice breaking a little. "Don't take any notice of me. I have had a wretched week, and it's a rotten world, anyway."
There was a knock at the door, and the waiter entered with the cocktails.
"Come," John said, as he took one from the tray, "I will tell you some news that will give you something to think about. I hope that you will be glad—I feel sure that you will. I want you to be the first to drink our healths—Louise's and mine!"
The glass slipped through her fingers and fell upon the carpet. She never uttered even an exclamation. John was upon his knees, picking up the broken glass.