He was ordering, with agony. He had appropriated four dollars for the orgy, strictly including the tip, and his standard of good food was that he must spend every cent of the four dollars. While he wondered what “Purée St. Germain” could be, and the waiter hideously stood watching behind his shoulder, Madeline fell to. She chanted with horrifying politeness:
“Mr. Arrowsmith tells me you are a nurse, Miss— Tozer.”
“Yes, sort of.”
“Do you find it interesting?”
“Well—yes—yes, I think it’s interesting.”
“I suppose it must be wonderful to relieve suffering. Of course my work— I’m taking my Doctor of Philosophy degree in English—” She made it sound as though she were taking her earldom—“it’s rather dry and detached. I have to master the growth of the language and so on and so forth. With your practical training, I suppose you’d find that rather stupid.”
“Yes, it must be—no, it must be very interesting.”
“Do you come from Zenith, Miss— Tozer?”
“No, I come from— Just a little town. Well, hardly a town ... North Dakota.”