"Entirely," she said carelessly; "except for Binns and his wife and the servants."
"Why didn't you 'phone a fellow to stop over to lunch?" he asked, suddenly assuming a jovial manner which their acquaintance did not warrant. "We country folk don't stand on ceremony you know."
"I did not know it," she said quietly.
His bold gaze rested on her again; again the uncertain laugh followed:
"If you'd ask me to dine with you to-night I'd take it as a charming concession to our native informality. What do you say, Miss West?"
She forced a smile, making a sign of negation with her head, but he began to press her until his importunities and his short, abrupt laughter embarrassed her.
"I couldn't ask anybody without permission from my hostess," she said, striving to maintain the light, careless tone which his changing manner toward her made more difficult for her.
"Oh, come, Miss West!" he said in a loud humorous voice; "don't pass me the prunes and prisms but be a good little sport and let a fellow come over to see you! You never did give me half a chance to know you, but you're hands across the table with that Ogilvy artist and José Querida—"
"I've known them rather longer than I have you, Mr. Cardemon."
"That's my handicap! I'm not squealing. All I want is to start in the race—"