"And how about my—er—my shrinking susceptibilities?" he asked.
"Oh, that! You are losing your sense of humor," she said promptly. "The worst of your enemies or the best of your friends would hardly call you sentimental. I could not feel safer on that score if I were under the motherly wing of Aunt Harriett Westfield!"
She was a bundle of contradictions and said exactly what came into her head. He examined her again, not sure whether it were better to be annoyed or merely amused, and saw again the wide violet gaze. He looked away but he didn't seem quite happy.
"I suppose that would be the truth," he said slowly. "Unfortunately our vulgar conventions make no such nice distinctions."
"But what is the difference if we make them?"
"None, of course. But I would much prefer it if we gave Verneuil a wide berth."
"Oh, I'm not afraid. Fate is always kind to the utterly irresponsible. That's their compensation for being so. What does it matter to-morrow so long as we are happy to-day?"
His expression softened.
"You are still contented then?"
"Blissfully so. Don't I look it?"