CHAPTER IX.
“Men used to be divided into two classes, you know, Mr. Fenton,—those who belonged to our set, and those who did not.”
Gertrude Van Vleck and John Fenton had retired to a remote corner of Mrs. Percy-Bartlett’s drawing-room, and were keeping up as animated a conversation as the depressing influences of a musicale permit. In evening dress, Fenton was a man of a most impressive presence. He had come to Mrs. Percy-Bartlett’s musicale expecting to be bored. The expression on his strong, thoughtful face, as he gazed smilingly at the handsome, aristocratic-looking girl beside him, proved that she had followed in Richard Stoughton’s footsteps, and had performed a miracle.
“And what is the distinction that you yourself make, Miss Van Vleck?” asked Fenton.
She looked at him earnestly a moment.
“To me,” she answered, “there are two kinds of men,—those who interest me, and those who do not.”
“Perhaps,” said Fenton, taking advantage of an interlude in the music-room, “perhaps it is inconsiderate on my part to ask the question, but I acknowledge that I am curious to know what ratio exists between the men who interest you and the men who do not.”
“I don’t know that I ever put the problem on a mathematical basis,” answered Gertrude, an amused smile playing across her face. “I am inclined to think that the ratio changes from year to year.”
“To your advantage?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not. As time goes on I find that I meet more men who do not interest me and fewer who do. But there is compensation for this in the fact that women have grown more attractive to each other than they used to be.”