"Because I think the 'how' and the 'where' of things influence you enormously."
"Don't they influence you, too?" she demanded.
"Oh, they count—decidedly. But I'm not a woman, nor an artiste, so
I'm not so much at the mercy of my temperament."
The man's insight was extraordinarily keen, but touched with a little insouciant tenderness that preserved it from being critical in any hostile sense. Nan heaved a small sigh of contentment at finding herself in such an atmosphere.
"How well you understand women," she commented with a smile.
"It's very nice of you to say so, though I haven't got the temerity to agree with you."
Then, looking down at her intently, he added:
"I'm not likely, however, to forget that you've said it. . . . Perhaps
I may remind you of it some day."
The abrupt intensity of his manner startled her. For the second time that evening the vivid personal note had been struck, suddenly and unforgettably.
The presidential uprising of the women at the end of dinner saved her from the necessity of a reply. Mallory drew her chair aside and, as he handed her the cambric web of a handkerchief she had let fall, she found him regarding her with a gently humorous expression in his eyes.