"Are you of Irish extraction, Mrs. Blaine?"
"No, indeed I'm not. I'm Connecticut Yankee, and my husband's from the West. I don't have to be Irish to think for myself, do I?"
Samson did not know whether or not to take her seriously, but recognized that his chance had gone that morning for the flirtation he had had in view— very mild, of course, for a beginning; it was his experience that most things ought to start quite mildly, if you hoped to keep the other man from stampeding the game. Nevertheless, as a judge of situations, be preferred not to take his leave at that moment. Give a woman the last word always, but be sure it is a question, which you leave unanswered.
"You've a beautiful garden," he said; and for a minute or two they talked of flowers, of which he knew more than a little; then of music, of which he understood a very great deal.
"Have you a proper lease on this house?" he asked at last.
"I believe so. Why?"
"I've been told there's some question about the title. Some one's bringing suit against your landlord for possession on some ground or another."
"What of it? Suppose the other should win—could he put us out?"
"I don't know. That might depend on your present landlord's power to make the lease at the time when he made it."
"But we signed the agreement in good faith. Surely, as long as we pay the rent—?"