“Not a bit,” she said seriously.
“I can't undertake to talk like that always,” I said warningly.
“I thought you said you were going to be serious.”
“So I am—but platitudinous—Heaven forbid!”
The little clock on the mantelpiece struck six. Eleanor rose in alarm.
“How the time has flown! I must be getting back. Well?”
Our eyes met. “Well?” said I.
“Are we ever to meet again?”
“It's for you to say.”
“No,” she said. And then very distinctly, very deliberately, “It's for you.”