"You speak as if there had been a vacancy."
"There has been—for just about three years. I remember you told me once that I'd find two kinds of friends: those who would refuse to believe anything bad of me, and those who would size me up and still stick to me. You are the only one of that second lot I have discovered thus far."
"We are getting miles away from the Fifth Avenue Hotel," she reminded him.
"No; we are just now approaching it from the proper direction. I had my war paint on that morning, and I wasn't fit to talk to you."
"Business?" she queried.
"Yes. Didn't the Major tell you about it?"
"Not a word. I hope you didn't quarrel with him, too?"
He marked the adverb of addition and wondered if Vincent Farley had been less reticent than Major Dabney.
"No; I didn't quarrel with your grandfather."
"But you did quarrel with Mr. Farley?—or was it with Vincent?"