"That is most amiable of her, and of you to say so."
"Oh, very," laughed Camilla, tossing her pretty head, "but it evidently does not interest you very much. In fact—" she glanced sidewise—"it is understood that no woman ever interests you for more than forty-eight consecutive hours."
"Pure slander, Camilla. You do."
"Oh—not in the way I mean."
"Well, but you don't expect me to be interested in Mrs. Paige—in the way you mean do you?"
"Why not?" she asked mischievously.
"Because, to begin properly, Mrs. Paige is not likely ever to become interested in me."
"I am heartily glad of it," retorted Camilla. "You'd forget her in a week,"
"That's more than forty-eight hours," he said, laughing. "You're flattering me now."
"Anyway," said Camilla, "I don't see why everybody that knows her isn't mad about Ailsa Paige. She has such high principles, such ideals, such wonderful aspirations—" She clasped her hands sentimentally: "At times, Phil, she seems too ethereal, scarcely of earth—and yet I breakfasted with her and she ate twice as much as I did. How does she keep that glorious figure!"