“What I can’t see,” observed she, “is why we didn’t stay and have our cigarettes with the men.”
“I always leave them together,” Alice Harrington said with a laugh, “because that’s the way to get the newest naughty stories. Michael always tells ’em to me later.”
“Alice!” cried Nora with mock reproof.
“Oh, I like ’em,” Alice declared, “when they’re really funny, and so does everybody else. Besides, nowadays it’s improper to be proper. Cigarette, Ethel?”
Miss Cartwright shook her head. “You know I don’t smoke,” she returned.
Nora lighted a cigarette unskilfully. “That’s so old-fashioned,” she said, in her most sophisticated manner, “and I’d rather die than be that.” She coughed as she drew in a fragrant breath of Egyptian tobacco. “I do wish, though, that I really enjoyed smoking.”
“What do you think of our new friend, Mr. Denby?” Alice asked of her.
“I like him in spite of the fact that he hardly noticed me. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ethel.”
“I saw that myself,” Mrs. Harrington returned. “You know, Ethel, I meant him to take you in to dinner, but Nora insisted that she sit next to him. She’s such a man-hunter!”
“You bet I am,” the wise Nora admitted—“that’s the only way you can get ’em.”