I think she's a terribly
nice pink-face. And just now you're comparing her and me."
"Gee!" he said.
She was immensely pleased with herself. "Tell me, what do these
people think about; at least, what do you talk about?"
"_Say!_"
"'S-s-s-h! Not so loud, my dear."
"Say, I know how you mean. You feel something like what I did
in England. You can't get next to what the folks are thinking,
and it makes you sort of lonely."
"Well, I--"
Just then Tom Poppins rolled jovially up to the couch. He had
carried his many and perspiring pounds over to Third Avenue
because Miss Proudfoot reflected, "I've got a regular sweet
tooth to-night." He stood before Istra and Mr. Wrenn
theatrically holding out a bag of chocolate drops in one hand
and peanut brittle in the other; and grandiloquently:
"Which shall it be, your Highness? Nobody loves a fat man, so
he has to buy candy so's they'll let him stick around. Le's
see; you take chocolates, Bill. Name your drink, Miss Nash."
She looked up at him, gravely and politely--too gravely and
politely.
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