She put her hand indifferently on my arm. She was nearly as tall as I, and I noticed as we passed the windows that, that night at any rate, her red-gold plait had been taken up and was closely swathed about her nape.
Of course young Kingsley or young somebody else had said something or done something, or hadn't said or done anything, or if he had had done it at the wrong moment or in the wrong way or had otherwise conjured up the shade of tragedy. Therefore, as there are occasions when tact may take the form of talking about one's self, I talked to Jennie about myself as we skirted the garden.
"Do you know, something rather exciting happened to me this morning," I remarked.
She showed no great interest, but asked me what it was.
"It mayn't sound much to you, but it interests me. I think I've started a new book."
"I wish I'd something to do," was the extent of her congratulation.
"What would you like to do?"
"Oh, anything. I shouldn't care what it was. Anything's better than this."
"Than this jolly party?"
"Yes. Or else I wish I'd been born a man. They get all the chances."