"Oh, Rita!" she said, "what a confession!"
"You silly child," retorted Rita, "I'm twenty-two. Do you think I have the audacity to pretend I've never been in love?"
Ogilvy said with a grin: "How about you, Miss West?"—hoping to embarrass her; but she only smiled gaily and continued to play a light accompaniment to the fugitive air that was running through her head.
"Don't be selfish with your experiences," urged Ogilvy. "Come on, Miss
West! 'Raus mit 'em!'"
"What do you wish me to say, Sam?"
"That you've been in love several times."
"But I haven't."
"Not once?"
Her lowered face was still smiling, as her pliant fingers drifted into
Grieg's "Spring Song."
"Not one pretty amourette to cheer those twenty-one years of yours?" insisted Ogilvy.