The turn of the talk put Alix in her element. She had never been an ingénue. She had been born with an intuitive defense. Finesse was her motto, and artificiality was her foil. It had never been struck from her hands. On the other hand, Alan knew that every woman who accepts battle can be reached, even if not conquered. It is the approaches to her heart that a woman must defend. Once those are passed, the citadel turns traitor.
They both knew they were embarking upon a dangerous game, but Alix had played it often. No pretty woman takes her European degree without ample occasion for practice, and Alix had been through the European mill. She threw out her daintily shod feet as she walked. She was full of life. She felt like skipping. The light of battle danced merrily in her eyes. She made no other reply.
“I met lots of people we both know,” she said at last.
“Which one of them passed on the news that I had taken to the ways of a wild beast?”
“Oh, that was the Honorable Percy. I caught only a few words. He was telling about a man known as Ten Per Cent. Wayne and the only time he’d ever seen the shirt-sleeve policy work with natives. When I learned it was Africa, I linked up with you at once and screamed, and he turned to me and said, ‘You know Mr. Wayne?’ And I said I had thought I did, but I found I only knew him tiré à quatre épingles, and wouldn’t he draw his picture over again. But just then Lady Merle signaled the retreat, and when the men came out, somebody else snaffled Collingeford before I got a chance.”
“Oh, Collingeford,” said Alan. “I remember.” He frowned and was silent.
“Alan,” said Alix after a moment, “let me warn you. I see a new tendency in you, but before it goes any further than a tendency, let me tell you that a thoughtful man is a most awful bore. When I caught sight of you I thought, ‘What a delightful little party!’ But if you’re going to be pensive, there are others—”
Alan glanced at her.
“Alix,” he said, mimicking her tone, “I see in you the makings of an altogether charming woman. I’m not speaking of the painstaking veneer,—I suppose you need that in your walk of life,—but what’s under it. There may be others, as you say,—pretty women have taken to wearing men for bangles,—but don’t you make a mistake. I’m not a bangle. I’ve just come from the unclothed world of real things. To me a man is just a man, and, what’s more, a woman is just a woman.”
“How un-American!” said Alix.