"After all," observed the girl, lifting her glass of water, "it does not concern Mr. Duane what sort of a dog you have chosen for me."
She sipped it leisurely, looking over the delicate crystal rim at Duane.
"You are young," she said. "'L'enfance est le sommeil de la raison.'"
"How would you like to have an Angora kitten?" he asked, reddening slightly.
"But infancy," she added, "is always adorable.... I think I might like a white one with blue eyes."
"Puppies, kittens, children," remarked Stafford—"they're all tolerable while they're young."[150]
"All of these," said the girl softly, "I should like to have."
And she gazed inquiringly at the crystal. But it could tell her nothing of herself or of her hopes. She turned and looked out into the dark city, a trifle wearily, it seemed to me.[151]
