“You know, Nellie,” he went on presently, “I’m not in the habit of talking about my own affairs, even with my friends, but I believe it’s done me a lot of good to talk to you. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
She nodded and then went on quickly. “The trouble with you is that you don’t talk enough about yourself, Phil. You’re a seething mass of introspection. It isn’t healthy. Friends are only conversational chopping-blocks after all. Why don’t you use them? Me—for instance. I’m safe, sane, and I confess a trifle curious.” She paused a moment, and then said keenly:
“It’s a girl, of course.”
He raised his head quickly, and then lowered it as quickly again.
“No, there isn’t any girl.”
“Oh, yes, there is. I’ve known it for quite two hours.”
“How?” he asked in alarm.
She waved her fan with a graceful gesture. “Second sight, a sixth sense, an appreciation for the fourth dimension—in short—the instinct of a woman.”
“You mean that you guessed?”
“No, that I perceived.”