“My mother used to tell me that I was a very destructive child.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if you were that yet.”
“Don’t let’s talk about me. Let’s talk about you, Dicky.”
“About me?”
“Yes, please. I think you’re a very interesting subject.”
Having arrived at some conclusion concerning this unprecedented attack upon his privacy, Dick was disposed to be kind to his unexpected visitor. The fact that Preston Eustace was in 214 town and Betty had not seen him shed an entirely new light on her recklessness. Like every other incident in Betty’s history her love-affair had been very conspicuously featured.
“The interesting things about me just at present are—” he was just about to say “six shirts of imported gingham” but he bethought himself that she would be certain to demand to see them, so he finished lamely with—“my game of golf, and my new dogs.”
“What kind of dogs?”
“Belgian police dogs.”
“Where do you keep them?”