Lily laughed, and blushed. The problem had never been put to her before.
“I suppose one can’t help being rather affected by a human being’s outward appearance,” she answered; then added, with a little smile on her pretty face: “At any rate, men are very much influenced by appearance, aren’t they, M. Popeau?”
“I’m afraid that can’t be denied! But tell me—if you don’t think the question indiscreet—does a young lady ever look at a good-looking man, and long to know him? That, I need hardly tell you, is what many a man—nay, almost every man—does do at times with regard to a beautiful woman!”
“I can’t imagine any nice girl feeling like that about an entire stranger,” began Lily hesitatingly.
“What a wonderful word is that English word ‘nice’!” said M. Popeau reflectively. “It may mean such a very great deal, or nothing at all. It is—it is——”
“I know exactly what you mean,” exclaimed Lily. “The word ‘nice’ is certainly a camouflage word!”
“That’s it!” cried M. Popeau, delighted. “You’ve put it exactly, Mademoiselle! But supposing I were to tell you—to return to what we were talking about—that there are very, very few nice girls in the world?”
“I shouldn’t believe you!” cried Lily stoutly.
“Supposing I were also to tell you,” went on M. Popeau gravely, “that a great many women you would probably describe as nice do not only pick out a handsome man and feel that they would like to know him, but that they go further—that sometimes they actually make the first advances, and do strike up some kind of acquaintance with him? Supposing I were to prove that to you?”
Lily looked and felt uncomfortable. She did not quite know what to say.