She had a sweet, bell-like soprano, which commanded great applause; but Wilfred disliked to hear her sing. A little too bell-like perhaps; a suggestion of the metal, however silvery. He was reminded of huskier and less admirable voices, which nevertheless had the power to bring tears to his eyes. But of course he applauded Daisy with the rest. He had met her three times on the occasions of Ladies’ nights at the dinners of a little club to which he belonged. She sang for her dinner. He was not in the least attracted to her; but in a circle of serious-minded men, mostly married, it was up to him to prove his mettle. He could not have allowed one of the dull fellows to carry off the only girl in their midst. She was a girl; but not a particularly young one; fully Wilfred’s own age. So he had taken her home each time.
She was pretty enough to gratify his fastidiousness, especially as it was not an obvious prettiness. She wore glasses, which gave her rather the air of a young school-ma’am; and it was only after reaching a certain degree of intimacy, that you discovered there were lovely blue eyes behind the glass. She had too, an admirable straight, short nose, and a sweet-lipped mouth, a thought too small. Her body was well enough. She gave an impression of thinness which was illusory. She was a coquette, and a great fool; and conversation with her was a weariness to a young man who had a good conceit of himself, owing to her ridiculous assumptions. But old men and unattractive men crowded around her.
Wilfred had always found a certain stimulus in the society of a coquette. It would make him a little indignant to see other men willing to subserve their pretensions; and when opportunity offered, he was eager to undertake the rehabilitation of his sex. Moreover, it was amusing to observe the astonishment of a coquette when her queenship was coolly questioned. Derision was devastating to coquettes. Unfortunately, the game was too easy. There was no glory in making a conquest of a coquette. Dethroned, she forthwith grovelled.
Daisy lived far up-town. She shared a tiny flat with a girl who was a trained nurse. To-night in order to make the long journey tolerable, Wilfred set about provoking Daisy to wrath.
“What a pretty little wife Dexter has!” he remarked.
“Do you think so?” said Daisy melodiously.
“Such eyes, such teeth, such hair! I don’t blame him for keeping her close.”
“That is just what you would do, isn’t it?”
“You bet I would! . . . Sweet enough to eat! Think of having that to fetch your slippers!”
“Yes, she looked like a slipper-fetcher,” said Daisy.