"I've been around a lot," Dalton evaded. "Of course if you don't want me to be perfectly frank with you, I won't."
"Be as frank as you please," Oscar had said, "but it's your air of knowing everything that gets me."
Dalton's breakfast was a hearty one—bacon and two eggs, and a pile of buttered toast. There had been a melon to begin with, and there was a pot of coffee. He was eating with an appetite when Madge came down.
"I had mine in bed," Madge said, as George rose and pulled out a chair for her. "Isn't this the beastliest fashion, having little tables?"
"That's what I told Oscar."
"Oscar and Flora will never have too much of restaurants. They belong to the class which finds all that it wants in a jazz band and scrambled eggs at Jack's at one o'clock in the morning. Georgie, in my next incarnation, I hope there won't be any dansants or night frolics. I'd like a May-pole in the sunshine and a lot of plump and rosy women and bluff and hearty men for my friends—with a fine old farmhouse and myself in the dairy making butter——"
George smiled at her. "I should have fancied
you an Egyptian princess, with twin serpents above your forehead instead of that turban."
"Heavens, no. I want no ardours and no Anthonys. Tell me about the new little girl, Georgie."
"How do you know there is a—new little girl?"