"And what might you be doing now, Perry?" enquired my companion, swinging his long, booted legs and stealing a backward glance at his fair, young wife seated on the driving seat beside Diana. "Isn't she perfectly wonderful?" he murmured.
"She is!" I answered.
"Her hair," he sighed; "her hair, you'll notice, is—"
"The most glorious in all the world!" quoth I.
"Absolutely, Perry! Beyond all doubt—"
"Though it is not really black, Anthony—"
"Black!" he exclaimed, turning on me with a sort of leap.
"No, not black, Anthony, sometimes it seems full of small fires—"
Now at this he laughed and I laughed, all unheeded by the two upon the driving seat who talked softly and questioned each other with their lovely faces very close together, while Diogenes the knowing slowed to his meditative amble.
"You must forgive me, Perry, I—I've only been a Benedict since two o'clock. But tell me of yourself; what you are doing, how you live and where?"