Mason looked bored. "Writes, does she?"
"Of course she writes. See that head, I say."
"I see the head and it's a handsome head. I'll concede that. So is Sanborn's, but he can't write a prescription without a printed form."
"O well, if you are in the mood to be irreverent!"
Mason's face lighted up. "There, you can write! Anyone who is capable of a touch like that—in the presence of gods, men should be meek. At the same time I would hasten to warn you, the Doctor is becoming marvelously interested in this girl with a future. He has faced her; he is actually touching her knee with his forefinger!"
Isabel laughed. "He always does that when he argues anything. It won't do any harm."
"It mightn't do you any harm, but that innocent country girl!"
"She can take care of herself. You should have heard her put me down in my chair. I want you to take her in to dinner."
"I—madam? Etta is my choice, after the hostess, of course. I'm a little shy of these girls who write."
"Well, you take me in and I'll let Paul take Rose, but I want her to sit by you. I invited you, of all the men of my vast acquaintance, because I hoped your trained and fictive eye would see and appreciate her."