"She takes Shaw and Ibsen with that childlike earnestness which has given those two great fakirs a posthumous vogue," Cairy remarked with a yawn. "If it were not for America,—for the Mississippi Valley of America, one might say,—Ibsen would have had a quiet grave, and Shaw might remain the Celtic buffoon. But the women of the Mississippi Valley have made a gospel out of them…. It is as interesting to hear them discuss the new dogmas on marriage as it is to see a child eat candy."
"You seem to find it so—with Isabelle."
"She is very intelligent—she will get over the Shaw-measles quickly."
"You think so?" Conny queried. "Well, with all that money she might do something, if she had it in her…. But she is middle class, in ideas,—always was."
That afternoon Isabelle had confided her schoolgirl opinion of Mrs.
Woodyard to Cairy. The young man balancing the two judgments smiled.
"She is good to behold," he observed, helping himself to whiskey.
"Not your kind, Tommy!" Conny warned with a laugh. "The Prices are very good people. You'll find that Isabelle will keep you at the proper distance."
Cairy yawned as if the topic did not touch him. "I thought you were going to Manon with the Hillyers."
"I was,—but I came home instead!" Conny replied softly, and their eyes met.
"That was kind of you," he murmured, and they were silent a long time.