She laughed again.
It is probable that they talked a polite amount with their respective neighbors. But if so, they regarded it as untimely interruption of the real business of the evening. It was amazing the number of things they found to discuss and they discussed them so earnestly and withal, as it seemed to them, so wittily and wisely that they were blissfully unaware of the significant smiles going around the table. When the coffee was served, David surveyed his cup stupidly.
"Does it strike you," he inquired, "that they've hurried this dinner out of all reason?"
"It has been the usual length, I believe."
"Funny—I've a hazy recollection of fish—and of an ice just now—but entrée and salad and the rest are a total blank."
"Very funny!" she agreed.
"But the queerest of all—" He broke off, with a laugh that did not quite reach his eyes.
"Yes?" she queried provocatively, knowing that one of his daring bits was coming.
"The queerest of all," he repeated, "is that you should turn out to be—you."
"No queerer than—" Then she broke off, with a laugh that did reach her eyes.