“Mine? Have I still a set—with the universal vagabondism you accuse me of?”
“Well then Mitchy’s—whoever they are.”
“And nobody of yours?”
“Oh yes,” Nanda said, “all mine. He must at least have arrived by this time. My set’s Mr. Longdon,” she explained. “He’s all of it now.”
“Then where in the world am I?”
“Oh you’re an extra. There are always extras.”
“A complete set and one over?” Vanderbank laughed. “Where then’s Tishy?”
Charming and grave, the girl thought a moment. “She’s in Paris with her mother—on their way to Aix-les-Bains.” Then with impatience she continued: “Do you know that’s a great deal to say—what you said just now? I mean about your being the best friend I have.”
“Of course I do, and that’s exactly why I said it. You see I’m not in the least delicate or graceful or shy about it—I just come out with it and defy you to contradict me. Who, if I’m not the best, is a better one?”
“Well,” Nanda replied, “I feel since I’ve known Mr. Longdon that I’ve almost the sort of friend who makes every one else not count.”