“It is quite coherent,” I responded, “though strange enough, surely. But——” I broke off and looked into her eyes.
“But what?”
I was silent a moment. “But I wonder,” I went on, “whether I might become socially impossible for a moment and say something serious?”
The lovely eyes met mine in frank surprise and inquiry.
“. . . and I wonder whether that sort of thing is good for one?” I finished.
She laughed. “That’s not very serious, Mr. Clayton. No, I don’t suppose that sort of thing is at all good for one. But you New Yorkers do not make that a criterion of your actions, surely?”
“Perhaps we do not!” I answered gravely.
“But that’s no reason why I shouldn’t?” she demanded, smiling. “There you go, trying to keep all the privileges for yourselves. I think I like New York and I want lots of privileges!”
I laughed. “Do you expect to be here long?” I asked.
“About a month, I think.”