Jacqueline, taken unawares, deprecated.
"Oh, madame—"
But Maxine was set to her point. "Answer my question," she insisted. "I wish to know. I am, above all things, practical."
It was to Jacqueline's credit that she did not smile, that she simply murmured: "Who doubts it, madame?"
"Yes; I am, above all things, practical. In this affair of the woman, I know exactly where I stand."
The girl made no comment; but even to Maxine's own ears, her declaration left a little suggestion of over-vehemence vibrating in the air; and startled by this suggestion, she did the least wise, the most human thing possible, she accentuated it.
"If I were different—if M. Blake were different, I grant that, perhaps—" She stopped abruptly. "Jacqueline, what are your thoughts?"
"Oh, madame, I have none!"
And here Maxine made a change of front, became very grave, touched the gracious, encouraging note of the being to whom life is an open book.
"You must not say that," she corrected, sweetly. "You always have ideas—even if they are sometimes a little in the air. Come! Tell me. What are your thoughts?"