“Oh, Carlton—and not the centre table.”
“How do you manage it?” he said, as they glided off, looking at her with critical, admiring eyes.
“Manage what? I wish you wouldn’t look at me like a doctor studying my health. I shall put my tongue out in a minute.”
“Don’t do that. A colleague or an opponent would be sure to be looking, and I don’t know which would be worse. Manage to look smart in anything, of course I mean.”
“Oh, it’s Lorraine Vivian and her maid; they loathe to see me dowdy.”
“With a little help from the Almighty, who gave you a haughty little nose and a short upper lip,” he told her laughingly. “You’re been very angry with me, I’m afraid, and no doubt I deserved it, but I’m going to make you be friends again and forgive me.”
“You won’t find it easy.”
“I dare say not; but I’m going to try all the same. Shall I begin with a humble apology?”
“You couldn’t be humble. I shouldn’t believe in it.”
“I believe I could with you—which means a great deal. Tell me, were you fully determined not to speak to me on the telephone, and not to see me again?”