"Why should I? What is the point of these conventions—these little rules—?"
"Don't you like being with me? Don't you get a great deal of pleasure from my society?"
"I have never asked myself such a question."
He was gazing at her for a third time; and a startled look sprang suddenly into his eyes. It was plain that he was asking himself such a question now. A curious change passed over his face; a kind of dawning consciousness which, it was obvious, embarrassed him to the point of torture, while he resolutely declined to flinch at it.
"Yes—I get pleasure from your society."
The admission turned him rather white, but he saved himself by instantly flinging at her: "However, I am no hedonist."
Sharlee retired to look up hedonist in the dictionary.
Later that evening, Mrs. Weyland and her daughter being together upstairs, the former said:—
"Sharlee, who is this Mr. Queed that you paid so much attention to on the porch this evening?"