“I’m not amusing you! Please forgive me. I can’t help it if I’m a little triste. Some little devilish imp is dancing through my silly head. If I took a second glass——”
Bruce answered her look of inquiry with a shake of the head.
“Are you asking my advice? I positively refuse to give it; but if you command me, of course——”
He rose, took the glass, and held it high for her inspection.
“The man tempts me——” she said pensively.
“The man doesn’t tempt you. We’ll say it’s the little imp. Mrs. Mills, do you want this cocktail or do you not?”
“It might cheer me up a little. I don’t want you to think me stupid; I know I’m terribly dull!”
She drank half the cocktail and bade him finish it.
“Oh, certainly!” he replied and drained the glass. “Now, under the additional stimulus, we can proceed with the discussion. What were we talking about, anyhow?”
“It doesn’t matter. Life offers plenty of problems. How many people do you really think are happy—really happy? Now Bud’s always cheerful; he and Maybelle are happy—remarkably so, I think. Helen Torrence—well, I hesitate to say whether she’s really happy or not; she always appears gay, just as you see her today; and it’s something to be able to give the impression, whether it’s false or not.”