“Oh,” she said.
“Oh, what?” said I. “You don’t remember me.”
“Nothing,” she answered, giving me a second look, glancewise. “Two nothings make it even,” she added.
There was an awkward pause. “May I ask you something? You are with the Great Midwestern, in Mr. Valentine’s office?”
“Yes.”
“I have no one else to ask,” she said. “You will be surprised. It is this: do you think Great Midwestern stock a good investment?”
I was angry and uncomfortable. Why was she asking me? But she wasn’t really; she was coming at something else.
“I haven’t any opinion,” I said, “and that isn’t what you mean.”
We were now in Fifth Avenue and had stopped in the doorway of a lighted shop to be out of the rain. She blushed at my answer and at the same time gave me a look of scrutiny. I had to admire the way she held to her purpose.
“I am very anxious to know what Mr. Valentine’s opinion is,” she said.