“Well, did he look at you?” she persisted. “Yes. But he didn’t know me.”
“I’m sure he didn’t,” chuckled Gloria. “Didn’t you bow to him?” she added. “Next time you meet a nice young man like Jack Remsen, you march straight up to him and take him by the beard—”
“He hasn’t got a beard.”
“—metaphorically speaking, and ask him if he isn’t ashamed of himself for not remembering you. He will be. Oh, never fear he will be!”
Darcy pursed her red lips up to a funny little assumption of prudery. “He’d think me a forward young hussy.”
“Let him. You’ve been backward long enough.”
“I—I—I haven’t really got used to—to the new feeling yet,” said the girl shyly.
“To being pretty? Say it out. It’s easy enough to get used to. Just feel as pretty as you look. Go on a perpetual parade until you learn the right kind of self-consciousness. Being a woman is an asset, not a liability in life. When you’ve absorbed that powerful truth, come to me and I’ll impart some more wisdom.” She fell into thought. “Darcy,” she said portentously.
“Well?”
“I’ve got a grand and glorious idea for a grand and glorious feeling—like Mr. Briggs’s.”