“Your hope, Mr. Harleston, is also mine. But why, may I ask, do you call me mademoiselle? I’m not French.”
“It’s the pleasantest way to address you until I know your name.”
“You might call me madame!”
“Perish the thought! I refuse to imagine you married.”
“I might be a widow.”
“No.”
“Or even a divorcée.”
“And you might be a grandmother,” he added.
“Yes.”
“And doing the Maxixe at the Willard, this minute.”