“Oh, I don’t know, why?”
“They’re so broad, so good-natured, so charitable. They’re not common, that’s sure.”
“Why, I don’t think we ought to be selfish, Lester. I don’t know why. Some women think differently, I know, but a man and a woman ought to want to live together, or they ought not to—don’t you think? It doesn’t make so much difference if a man goes off for a little while—just so long as he doesn’t stay—if he wants to come back at all.”
Lester smiled, but he respected her for the sweetness of her point of view—he had to.
To-night, when she saw this woman so eager to talk to Lester, she realized at once that they must have a great deal in common to talk over; whereupon she did a characteristic thing. “Won’t you excuse me for a little while?” she asked, smiling. “I left some things uncared for in our rooms. I’ll be back.”
She went away, remaining in her room as long as she reasonably could, and Lester and Letty fell to discussing old times in earnest. He recounted as much of his experiences as he deemed wise, and Letty brought the history of her life up to date. “Now that you’re safely married, Lester,” she said daringly, “I’ll confess to you that you were the one man I always wanted to have propose to me—and you never did.”
“Maybe I never dared,” he said, gazing into her superb black eyes, and thinking that perhaps she might know that he was not married. He felt that she had grown more beautiful in every way. She seemed to him now to be an ideal society figure-perfection itself—gracious, natural, witty, the type of woman who mixes and mingles well, meeting each new-comer upon the plane best suited to him or her.
“Yes, you thought! I know what you thought. Your real thought just left the table.”
“Tut, tut, my dear. Not so fast. You don’t know what I thought.”
“Anyhow, I allow you some credit. She’s charming.”