“A pleasure delayed is twice a pleasure anticipation and realization.”
Miss Balfour made a different application of his text, her eyes trained on him with apparent indifference. “I’ve been enjoying a delayed pleasure myself. I went to see her this afternoon.”
He did not ask whom, but his eyes brightened.
“She’s worth a good deal of seeing, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I’m in love with her, but it doesn’t follow you ought to be.”
“Am I?”—he smiled.
“You are either in love or else you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“An interesting thing about you is your point of view. Now, anybody else would tell me I ought to be ashamed if I am in love.”
“I’m not worried about your morals,” she scoffed. “It’s that poor child I’m thinking of.”
“I think of her a good deal, too.”