"Oh, nothing is impossible on Tom Fool's night. Positive, fool; comparative, fooler; superlative, foolest. You are marching on with your degrees, Mr. Comstalk."
"You might call me Dicky," I said in an aggrieved tone.
"Dicky? Never! I should always be thinking of paper collars."
"I wish I were witty like that!"
She snuggled down beneath the robes.
An artist's model, thought I. Never in this world. I now understood the drift of her uncle's remark about her earning capacity. The Alice Hawthorne miniatures brought fabulous prices. And here I was, sitting so close to her that our shoulders touched: and she a girl who knew intimately emperors and princesses and dukes, not to mention the worldly-rich. I admit that for a moment I was touched with awe. And it was beginning to get serious. This girl interested me marvelously. I summoned up all my courage.
"Are—are you married?"
"No-o."
"Nor engaged to be married?"
"No-o. But you mustn't ask all these questions."