"Boy, indeed!" he scoffed, flinging himself down beside her. "That's over with, long ago."
"Oh, I don't feel motherly," she asserted, still suffused with that telltale flush. "Not in the way you mean. But you'll always be a boy to me—and to every other woman who learns to care for you."
"Every other woman?" Pierce's eyes opened. "What a queer speech. There aren't going to be any OTHER women." He looked on while she lighted a cigarette, then after a moment he inquired, "What do you mean?"
She answered him with another question. "Do you think I'm the only woman who will love you?"
"Why—I haven't given it any thought! What's the difference, as long as you're the only one I care for? And I do love you, I worship—"
"But there WILL be others," she persisted, "There are bound to be.
You're that kind."
"Really?"
The Countess nodded her head with emphasis. "I can read men; I can see the color of their souls. You have the call."
"What call?" Pierce was puzzled.
"The—well, the sex-call, the sex appeal."