“Surely,” she nodded. “Why do you think I allowed myself to be made love to by you? Be honest with yourself and tell me what there is in your equipment that a woman could rave about?”
He stammered a wrathful denial.
“I didn’t make love to you,” said Gordon hotly. “We talked about things ... and you ... and me—about our tastes....”
“If you had as much experience as I have,” said Heloise, “you’d know that that was being made love to.” She nodded wisely. “Maybe you didn’t know—you know now.”
Gordon’s anger was rising.
“We talked on—on a higher plane,” he said sharply. “We talked of ... imponderable things. There was never ... never a caress. I hardly held your hand. Do you suggest there was anything in our little talks about prehistoric creatures,” he sneered, “or in our interchange of thought about the subconscious ego?”
To his horror she nodded.
“Sure! That’s how highbrows make love. When they start in to tell me about the Dinornis and the Silurian age, I know they got a crush on me.”
She herself might have been a Dinornis or something equally extinct and terrible by his attitude toward her.