“Don’t try to flirt with me,” she exclaimed, as he edged a little nearer.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“You don’t know how,” she said and smiled provokingly.
For a moment Monty forgot pearls and Customs and all unpleasant things.
“Teach me,” he entreated.
“It can’t be taught,” she said. “It’s got to be born in you.” She cast her eyes down and looked alluringly at him through curling lashes. There was the opportunity for Monty to see whether he had any skill at the ancient game, but a sudden numbing nervousness took hold of him. And while he could have written a prize essay on what he should have done, he had not the courage to make the attempt.
“Well?” she said presently. “Go on.”
“I wonder where Steve is?” he said desperately.
“You’re hopeless,” she cried exasperated. “I don’t know where ‘Steve’ is, and I don’t care. I hope he’s under the car with gasoline dripping into his eyes.”
Poor Monty groaned; for it was equally true that he at this particular moment was anxious to forget everything but the pretty girl at his side.