"But it is a great mistake," continued Dolores. "It may be true that whatever is choice is always exclusive; but whatever is exclusive is not always choice. One finds so little variety in the people one meets in the so-called best society anywhere. They are all after one pattern, and society does not tolerate individual tastes and ideas, you know. So you see I am obliged to select my congenial friends as I may, and create a Bohemia of my own."
"Which immediately becomes a Paradise," her listener answered gallantly.
"Don't," ejaculated Dolores with a pained expression, "it sounds so like—well, so like other men."
"And am I not like other men?" Percy asked, smiling and secretly pleased. Nothing flatters a man's vanity more than being told he is not like other men. "I never imagined myself to be a distinct type."
"But you are; or at least you have seemed so to me. And that is why I have liked you so well."
"Then you do like me?"
Dolores met his gaze without a blush or tremor, frankly, sweetly.
"I do not think I ever met any man before, whom I so thoroughly liked and respected," she said. "You are my ideal friend."
"Then, perhaps you will consent to correspond with me occasionally," Percy suggested. "I should have gone away not daring to ask the favor, believing myself only one of the many on whom you bestowed your hospitality, but for your kind speech."
As he sat in his room that night, Percy puzzled his brains, trying to analyze Dolores King's manner and words, and state of mind toward him.