“I’m going to!” said she.
“And I thought Mildred was unreasonable!” Edward reflected.
The image of Mildred rose before him, remarkably vivid. With great justice and moderation he compared her with this unknown individual. All women were not alike. Mildred was different. There was something about her—Sometimes, of course, she was simply outrageous, but, even at that—That time when he had the flu—or when anything went wrong in the office—
“And she’s very young,” thought the just man. “She’s nothing but a kid. Perhaps I should have made allowances.”
“Won’t you smoke?” said a voice.
Glancing up, he saw the fair unknown proffering a silver cigarette case. Edward did not smoke cigarettes, and he had pretty severe theories about people who did so, but this time he was weak. He took one and lighted it. It was a horrible perfumed thing, but it helped him. The fact that he had broken one of his rules helped him, too. He felt more tolerant.
“Don’t you—er—smoke?” he asked his companion.
He thought she was just the sort of person who would; but she shook her head.
“Arthur doesn’t like me to,” she said. Her voice had changed, and her face, too. She was downcast and pale. “I made him get me that case,” she went on. “He hated to, but I made him.”
Tears had come into her eyes again, but this time Edward felt rather sorry for her.