“Yes, I did,” said Paul, grimly. “I’d gotten to the point where I’d have flopped down, and played dead if necessary. She seemed to swallow the story, bait, line and hook, and was quite sympathetic—and here I am, and the next time you try to get me into a fix like that—”
“I say,” interrupted Jane, “Mr. Sheridan hasn’t danced with Lily at all! He’s gone and plopped himself down with all those old fogies around the fire!”
At this Paul took his turn to chuckle.
“Serves you right! Now will you keep your fingers out of other people’s pies? I told you you were too young to be meddling with such things. But I guess you’re just like all women—jump at conclusions, and then start trying to run things—”
“You think you’re awfully clever, don’t you?” retorted Jane acidly.
“Not clever—just humanly intelligent. Intuition may be all right for women, but plain horse-sense is good enough for me.”
“What’s intuition?” demanded Jane.
“The thing that makes girls think they know more than men do,” replied Paul, scornfully. “Your friend Amelia says she’s got a lot of it. Ask her what it is.” Then he turned to her with an exasperating grin; he was getting immeasurable satisfaction out of her discomfiture. “Practice what you preach, old lady. I guess it’s about time that you left a thing or two to Providence.”
Jane felt that it was time to change the subject.
“People are queer,” she remarked.