"Isn't he?"
"In business?"
"How demure Miss McRae is," he commented. "Observe those long eyelashes flutter down to the soft cheeks."
"In what book did you read that?" she wanted to know.
"In that book of suffering known as experience," he sighed, eyes dancing.
"If you're trying to tell me that you're in love with some girl—"
"Haven't I been trying to tell you for a year?"
Her eyes flashed a challenge at him. "Take care, sir. First thing you know you'll be on thin ice. You might break through."
"And if I did—"
"Of course I'd snap you up before you could bat an eye. Is there a girl living that wouldn't? And I'm almost an old maid. Don't forget that. I'm to gather rosebuds while I may, because time's flying so fast, some poet says."