"Has she money?" Wingate asked.
"Plenty—but she hasn't much confidence in Jimmy. I think she shows signs of wavering lately, though. Perhaps his latest idea—he's going into the City to-morrow, you know—may bring her around.—Mr. Wingate!"
"Well?"
"You're rather a dear old thing, you know," she said, "although you're so serious."
"And you're quite nice," he admitted, "although you're such an incorrigible little flirt."
"How do you know?" she laughed. "You never give me a chance of showing what I can do in that direction."
"Too old, my dear young lady," her host lamented, as he mixed himself a whisky and soda.
"Rubbish!" she scoffed. "Too much in love with some one else, I believe."
"These are too strenuous days for that sort of thing," he rejoined, "except for children like you and Mr. Wilshaw."
"I don't know so much about that," she objected. "The world has never gone so queerly that people haven't remembered to go on loving and be made love to. Look at the war marriages."