“No, indeed,” was the prompt rejoinder; “I envy them. It must be fine to have large things to do, and to be able to do them.”
“Degenerate scion of a noble race!” jested Adams. “What ancient Carteret of them all would have compromised with the necessities by becoming a captain of industry?”
“It wasn't their metier, or the metier of their times,” said Miss Virginia with conviction. “They were sword-soldiers merely because that was the only way a strong man could conquer in those days. Now it is different, and a strong man fights quite as nobly in another field—and deserves quite as much honor.”
“Think so? I don't agree with you—as to the fighting, I mean. I like to take things easy. A good club, a choice of decent theaters, the society of a few charming young women like—”
She broke him with a mocking laugh.
“You were born a good many centuries too late, Mr. Adams; you would have fitted so beautifully, into decadent Rome.”
“No—thanks. Twentieth-century America, with the commercial frenzy taken out of it, is good enough for me. I was telling Winton a little while ago—”
“Your friend of the Kansas City station platform?” she interrupted. “Mightn't you introduce us a little less informally?”
“Beg pardon, I'm sure—yours and Jack's: Mr. John Winton, of New York and the world at large, familiarly known to his intimates—and they are precious few—as 'Jack W.' As I was about to say—”
But she seemed to find a malicious satisfaction in breaking in upon him.