He laughed uproariously and she noticed how young he could look.
“Will you come to lunch and talk it over? I’ll tell you all about it—hopes and failures, young lady adventurer.”
“If I can pay for my own lunch.”
He bowed, then added with a twinkle:
“Of course we aren’t absolutely down to bedrock. I could pay for your lunch.”
“But it’s easier for me to beg for a job if I’m paying for my own. My name is Horatia Grant, Mr. Langley.”
“Miss Grant,” said Langley, holding the door open, “no matter who pays for it, I am going to enjoy my lunch.”
CHAPTER II
IT was an amazingly pleasant lunch. Horatia was not too sophisticated in this matter of eating with men in public restaurants and under the flattering charm of Jim Langley’s interest and attention she sparkled with excitement and response. She liked him. She liked his easy careless manners and his half-mocking, half-kind indulgence towards her remarks and the real amusement in his smile and the skill he showed in ordering food. And Langley across from her, along with his faint note of self-mockery, showed that he enjoyed himself too, for Horatia’s face was young and her mind was clear and above all she did not seem tired but fresh and vigorous. He asked her about herself, subtly keeping the conversation on her, and she told him of the house on the hill and her married sister and her aunt and uncle and the neighbors.
“They are kind, you know,” she finished, “but they are so simple that they all call me intellectual and set me apart as queer.”