"What a strange face you have, as though, in you, were the makings of a man."
I don't know how she was in the habit of talking to other men; she was always saying that sort of thing to me. I laughed. "What sort of man?"
She did not answer my question. She ran her conversation on lines of her own.
"What have you been doing since I saw you last--killing time?"
"Unfortunately, Miss Jardine, I have nothing else to do."
"Would you like to have something?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On the something."
"I see. I suppose that you will be doing something else on Saturday; you are going to kill papa's pheasants?"