"But listen, Rags, won't you give me a chance? Won't you stay for, say, ten days and get to know me a little?"
"Know you!" Her tone implied that he was already a far too open book. "I want a man who's capable of a gallant gesture."
"Do you mean you want me to express myself entirely in pantomime?"
Rags uttered a disgusted sigh.
"I mean you haven't any imagination," she explained patiently. "No Americans have any imagination. Paris is the only large city where a civilized woman can breathe."
"Don't you care for me at all any more?"
"I wouldn't have crossed the Atlantic to see you if I didn't. But as soon as I looked over the Americans on the boat, I knew I couldn't marry one. I'd just hate you, John, and the only fun I'd have out of it would be the fun of breaking your heart."
She began to twist herself down among the cushions until she almost disappeared from view.
"I've lost my monocle," she explained.
After an unsuccessful search in the silken depths she discovered the illusive glass hanging down the back of her neck.