Polly blew a ring. “Mother said you flirted desperately with Geoffrey last night.”
“I!” Gita’s spine rose as if propelled by a spring. “I never flirted in my life and you know it.”
“I told her she was crazy, but she will have it that you have lost your heart at last.”
Gita gasped. “Lost my heart? I feel as if I were turning pea-green. It’s enough to make a dog sick.”
“So it is. You may be sure she didn’t convince me. If you ever did anything so commonplace we’d all be horribly disappointed. Now, you’re the one and only Gita. . . . But—do you know?—I think you’ve rather grown to like admiration, and are not above encouraging it.”
Gita shrugged and settled back to her pillow. “I’m vain enough. I even put cold cream on my face at night before I wash it. But I don’t flirt and I don’t encourage them. Just let them yap to their hearts’ content.”
“But do tell me that you think Geoffrey interesting,” cried Polly, still angling. “I’d be frightfully disappointed if you didn’t.”
“Yes—I’d call him interesting. He doesn’t say much, but he has a quality—magnetism, I suppose. And then he’s rather unsusceptible and that’s always intriguing. Glad he’s fallen in love with you if you want him.” Her conscience suddenly pricked. “By the way, he spoke of you with the greatest enthusiasm last night.”
“Did he?” Polly seldom blushed but she did now and her eyes sparkled. “What did he say?”
“Oh, a lot of things. Different. More admirable than all other girls rolled into one. Almost warmed up.” Gita had a very vague remembrance of what Geoffrey had said about Polly.