“Why?” asked Diana. “I don’t see it at all! Women over forty who have failed to get married shouldn’t live! Don’t you agree?”
He sniggered again.
“Well,—perhaps I do!—perhaps I do! But we mustn’t be severe—we mustn’t be severe! We shall get old ourselves some day!”
“We shall indeed!” Diana responded, ironically. “Even you must have passed your twentieth birthday!”
He got up a spasmodic laugh at this, but looked very foolish all the same.
“Did you—in these psychic days—think I might be the drowned old maid reincarnated?” she continued, lazily, still playing with her fan.
This time his laugh was unforced and genuine.
“You! My dear young lady! The Miss May I knew might be your mother! No,—it was only the curious coincidence of names that made me wonder if you were any relative.”
“There are many people in the world of the same name,” remarked Diana.
“Quite so! You will excuse me, I’m sure, and accept my apologies!”