“Ay, and Chicago and ’Frisco,” I added.
“That’s the identical geranium.”
“And is Wilson Finche in Newport?”
“He has taken a cottage on the Ocean Drive for the season.”
“I must look him up.”
“Are you acquainted with him?” the languor of manner disappearing, and a vivid interest rushing to the front.
“Very well indeed.”
“And with his daughter?”
“Why, certainly.”
“Stop a minute!” fumbling in his breast coat-pocket. “You’ll introduce me.”