"My grandmother," Boyd said virtuously, "doesn't go to joints like that."
"Use your imagination," Malone snapped. "And suppose your grandmother recognized the girl as an old schoolmate of hers."
Boyd swallowed hard. "As a what?"
"An old schoolmate," Malone said. "Suppose this girl were so charming and everything just because she'd had ... oh, ninety years or so to practice in."
"Malone," Boyd said in a depressed tone, "you can spoil more ideas—"
"Well," Malone said, "would you go out with her again?"
"You kidding?" Boyd said. "Of course not."
"But she's the same girl," Malone said. "You've just found out something new about her, that's all."
Boyd nodded. "So," he said, "you found out something new about Luba. Like, maybe, she's ninety years old?"
"No," Malone said. "Nothing like that. Just—something." He remembered Queen Elizabeth's theory of politeness toward superiors: people, she'd said, act as if they believed their bosses were superior to them, but they didn't believe it.