I murmured something sympathetic.
“Because I’m young in years people think I can’t see things,” she cried, with a little rising temper.
“You have the best possible vantage, then, to observe the world as it really is.”
“And I do see things as they really are, and many things!” and she clinched her little fists under cover of the darkness. Things were getting somewhat strenuous for me, so I brought our conversational boat to smoother waters.
“You make me think a little of Ellery Drake,” I said. (Machiavelli to the front!) “Because he seems so simple and direct; shallow people don’t take the trouble to understand him. But you’ve seen, of course——”
“Yes,” she assented; and I saw she was interested.
“What a lonely time he has of it, and under his apparent simplicity how much depth there is.”
“I’ve known him all my life—but I’ve never really known him—that is, what I call knowing a person.” There was a great deal of intensity in Cecilia’s voice. “Ah, how hard it is to really know any—and so few realize it.” The atmosphere was getting a little rarefied, so I was glad of the diversion caused by the two roller sleds whiffling by us.
“We’re racing,” called Mrs. Massingbyrd. “If we win, I’m to grant a boon to Jack Almington.”
“He’ll probably ask her to take down her hair,” said Machiavelli. “Men always do.”