“Some you will like, and some you will not,” she replied, with calm disregard of her previous assertion. “Well, I shall know what you think of me before long—don’t make any mistake about that. Shall we flirt, by the way, or shall we merely be friends?”
“The last condition would give greater range to your inherent wickedness.”
She laughed, apparently with much amusement. “I have a good many friends, nevertheless,—real friends. I have made it my particular art, and have rules and regulations. When they transgress, I fine them.”
“Suppose we begin that way. I’d like to know the rules.”
“N-o, I don’t think I want to. You see, the rule I most strictly enforce is that when the party of the other part transgresses, I never sit with him in a conservatory again.”
“Let us cut the rules by all means. I feel a poor helpless male, quite at your mercy: I haven’t been in a conservatory for years. Although I’ve made a point of seeing something of the society of every capital I’ve visited, I’ve forgotten the very formula of flirtation. I might take a few lessons of Hastings—”
“Oh, don’t! What a combination that would be! I will teach you all that it is necessary for you to know.”
“Heaven help me. I shall be wise and sad when I leave California. However, I face my fate like a man; whatever happens, I shall not run. Just now it is my duty to wait on you. Shall I bring your supper here?”
“Yes—do. You will find a table behind that palm. Draw it up. There. Now bring what you like for yourself, but only a few oysters for me.”