“Not a dashing hero,” he rejoined. “Then my dreams were deceptive. Dreaming after dinner suggests age. I’ll have to buck up.”
“Buck up now, and talk to me,” Pamela said. “You’ve been very slow this evening.”
“Have I?” He took hold of her wrist and spanned it with his fingers. “You are growing abominably thin,” he remarked irrelevantly.
Involuntarily, he compared her slimness with Blanche Maitland’s generous lines, and decided that thinness was unbecoming.
“I never was plump,” Pamela answered calmly, quite satisfied with her own proportions, and unconscious of his comparison.
“No... ‘A rag and a bone and a hank of hair’ ... How does the thing go?”
“I don’t think I want to hear any more of it,” she said.
He laughed.
“Then don’t grow any thinner. You are getting to be all angles.”
She got off his knee and took a chair some little distance from him.