“Rather a shame,” thought Edward happily, “to raise her hopes like this.”
“You know, I have a true love already,” he said aloud.
“I’ll tell the world you have,” replied Miss Weber. “Haf-a-dozen, more like. In England I guess.”
“In China.”
“Is that right? Well, China’s a long ways off,” she said and placed her head a little doubtfully on his shoulder.
“That’s nice,” said Edward, trying secretly to pretend that the head was Emily’s. It was blasphemy, for Miss Weber’s crimped hair looked sticky under its dusty net. “Poor soul, poor defenceless little woman....” he thought a little wearily. He had never before had such advances from a virtuous young woman, but he was already thinking of himself as a heartbreaker. He was proud but he ached for Emily.
“One’s life with such people is hideous,” he thought suddenly. “People like me have to pretend all the time with them. Pretend to be amused ... to be grateful ... to be sprightly ... to be in love. If one stopped pretending one would shout, ‘Oh, how hideous my life is when I am with you.’ Emily is easy.”
“I guess you haven’t gotten on to my first name,” murmured Miss Weber.
“Yes I have. It’s Mame,” he replied with distaste.