She shrugged her shoulders slightly.
“Nor do I,” put in Magnus Laurens, “I’m ashamed to say.”
“At all events, you did it this time. It was very nice in you. Usually I feel quite lonely. And once they were going to arrest me for it.”
“Where was that?” asked Jeremy Robson stealthily reaching for his folded square of scratch paper.
“In Germany. When I was at school there. Are you going to put all this in the paper?”
“Would you mind?”
“I suppose I ought to mind. It is very forward and unmaidenly, is it not, to permit one’s self to be dragged into print?”
“It is,” said Magnus Laurens, his shrewd eyes twinkling, “and about one hundred and one maidens out of every hundred just love it, according to my observations.”
“I do not think that I should object,” said Miss Ames calmly. “In fact I should be curious to see what you would say about me.”
That was Jeremy Robson’s first intimation of her unique frankness of attitude toward herself as toward all other persons and things.