Bill said she was. Further he remarked in genial brotherly fashion: “A good sort, old Vi! And clever as blazes, you know. Got clean away with all the brains of our family.”
Mame offered no comment, but she felt somehow that it was highly probable. Bill, with all his charm and manliness, made no pretence at intellect. But in the opinion of Miss Du Rance he had better things to show.
When they reached the ground floor and found themselves in the vestibule, Bill said, “Can I get you a taxi or anything?”
“Are you taxi-ing yourself?” inquired the judicious Mame.
“No, I’m hitting the pike.” Bill was proud of his American.
“Same here. Which way you going?”
“Along Piccadilly as far as St. James’s Street.”
Mame was going along Piccadilly as far as the Circus. They might walk together if he didn’t mind.
Bill said he was enchanted. Perhaps he was. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the contrary. An amusing little puss. She seemed different from all the other girls he knew. He must ask Vi what part of the States she came from. Perhaps he might have asked the amusing little puss herself had he not been kept so busy answering the questions she put to him.
The number of questions Bill had to answer in their pleasant saunter up the street, and across the road, and by the Green Park railings was astonishing. But he didn’t mind at all. In fact he rather liked it. She was as fresh as paint. And simply rippling with intelligence. No end of punch in her, too. Yes, she was altogether different from the other girls he knew. As for her comically expressive phrases, she sort of fired them off, a hundred to the minute, like some jolly old Maxim gun.