"People seem to think so!" she said, a trifle bitterly.
"I didn't mean that," he answered quietly. "I mean that there has been little enough in your life of late to spoil you, so I shall try to make it up to you. May I?"
For a moment she did not answer—bending her head lower over her plate. Then she turned and faced him—the adorable smile on her lips.
"You may spoil me, Montague,—if you think it wise," she said. "I'm a wilful creature, you know."
"I'll risk the wilfulness," he declared—"it is little enough to risk."
"Pendleton can tell us," came Cameron's voice—"if he will stop talking trash to Mrs. Lorraine long enough to answer."
"And talk trash to you instead, I presume," Pendleton remarked. "Certainly, what is it?"
"How long has Porshinger belonged to the Club?" asked Cameron.
"Longer than he ought," said Pendleton dryly.