This girl was civil, obliging. I was contrasting her with the Broadway and the American type generally—hard, cynical little animals. The English, from prostitutes to queens, must have an innate sense of fair play in the social relationship of live and let live. I say this in all sincerity and with the utmost feeling of respect for the nation that has produced it. They ought to rule, by right of courtesy. Alas, I fear me greatly that the force and speed of the American, his disregard for civility and the waste of time involved, will change all this.
In the taxi I did not touch her, though she moved over near to me in that desire to play her rôle conscientiously line by line, scene by scene.
“Have we far to go?” I asked perfunctorily.
“Not very, only a little way.”
“How much ought the cab charge to be?”
“Not more than eight or ten pence, sir.” Then, “Do you like girls, sir?” she asked quaintly in a very human effort to be pleasant under the circumstances.
“No,” I replied, lying cautiously.
She looked at me uncertainly—a little over-awed, I think. I was surely a strange fish to swim into her net anyhow.
“Very likely you don’t like me then?”
“I am not sure that I do. How should I know? I never saw you before in my life. I must say you have mighty nice eyes,” was my rather banal reply.