"Perhaps he is the original hundredth man," remarked Cynthia skeptically.
"Most men are hundredth men when the nine and ninety girls behave themselves. It's the hundredth girl who makes the nine and ninety men horrid."
"That's what you believe, is it?"
"I do."
"Dream on, dear." She went to a glass, pinned her pretty hat, slipped into the smart fur coat that Jacqueline held for her, and began to draw on her gloves.
"Can't you stay to dinner," asked Jacqueline.
"Thank you, sweetness, but I'm dining at the Beaux Arts."
"With any people I know?"
"You don't know that particular 'people'," said Cynthia, smiling, "but you know a friend of his."
"Who?"