“I’ve carried one since the day you told me to. Not that I’ve met a soul that looked dangerous, nor that I’d know how to shoot or when, if I did.”
“The sight of it would be taken as evidence that you knew how to use it,” he assured her.
For a time, as they walked, she had many questions to put about the tree and bird life surrounding them. In the midst of it he asked her:
“Do you ever get restless?”
“I haven’t, here. I’m getting rested.”
“And at home I suppose you’re too busy.”
“Being busy is no preventive. Somebody has said that St. Vitus is the patron saint of New York society.”
“It must take almost all the time those people have to keep up with the theaters and with the best in poetry and what’s being done and thought, and the new books and all that,” he surmised.
“I beg your pardon; what was that about poetry and books?”
“Girls like you—society girls, I mean—read everything there is, don’t they?”