“My name’s Lucille Banks,” she remarked. “I’ve taken that little cottage down at the crossroads. I moved in this morning, and I was so busy getting settled that I forgot about dinner until awfully late. Then I went out to buy something to eat, and I forgot my key.”
“But you’re not alone in the cottage?” said Christine.
“Lord, yes!” replied the other cheerfully. “I don’t mind that. I’m used to being alone. I like it.” She laughed. “I look like a kid, but I’m not,” she said. “I’m twenty-four. I was with the Red Cross in Italy. I’ve lived in Paris and London. I did a thousand miles by airplane. I’ve written a book. So you see!”
The serious couple were astounded and greatly interested.
“But where could you get anything to eat at this hour in this place?” asked Christine.
“I couldn’t. I didn’t; but that does[Pg 63]n’t bother me. I’ve never pampered myself by eating a certain amount of food at certain intervals. If I could possibly beg a cigarette?”
“Oh, by all means!” said Paul hastily, and brought out his case.
Christine protested.
“Let me get you something to eat, instead,” she said. “It’s so bad for you to—”
“Nothing hurts me,” Miss Banks coolly interrupted. “Even if it did hurt me, I shouldn’t care. I’m going to do all the things I like to do, and hang the consequences!”