“That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I was, although I don’t see myself with lovers or thinking anybody worth swinging for. Several American reincarnations must have changed my habits; but I don’t mind looking the part. Good idea—when we get back to Paris I’ll have several of those Renaissance costumes made. They won’t go out of style, either. Greg can fork over the pearls later.”
“You’ll be a picture. I wish I had thought of it before. Don’t you think you are capable of jealousy?”
“Nixie. To be jealous you’ve got to have a fearful crush; and thank the lord I don’t love anybody but myself and never shall.”
“That is often the secret of love for some man—of most men’s love for a woman, I imagine! Perhaps it creates the most powerful delusion of all.”
“Well, none of it in mine. Me for the great society act. I’m going to be the grandest dame in Montana, and when I’ve wrung that dry I’ll move on to New York. Greg says he won’t, means to live and die in Montana, but I guess he’ll manage to stand it if I desert him occasionally. If he’s got a hill full of copper he won’t know whether I’m in Butte or the Waldorf-Astoria. You look better, Ora; you ought to stay out of doors more and watch these funny old crowds. You’ve got a nice colour, and smile as if you meant it—Oh! that’s it, is it? Well, thank goodness, I’ve got a front seat——”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Pretending you haven’t seen him? I like that!”
Ida felt the arm within her own stiffen. “Valdobia! Don’t leave me for a moment.”
“I won’t, although, believe me, the rôle of gooseberry is no cinch.”
“I’ve played it for you often enough.”