"But it _was_ delightful, Mr. Billett--I love talking about myself and you
were really very sweet to listen so nicely." She has definitely risen. Ted
must, too. "We must do it again some time soon--I'm going to see if there
aren't any of those books with long German names drifting around 'Mode'
somewhere so that I'll be able to simply stun you with my erudition the
next time we talk over dreams."
They are at the door now, she guiding him toward it as imperceptibly and
skillfully as if she controlled him by wireless.
"And it isn't fair of me to let you give all the parties--it simply isn't.
Couldn't you come up to dinner in my little apartment sometime--it really
isn't unconventional, especially for anyone who's once seen my pattern of
an English maid--"
Sunlight and Minetta Lane again--and whatever Ted may want to say out of
his walking trance--this is certainly no place where any of it can be said.
XII
Oliver Crowe, at his desk in the copy-department of Vanamee and Co.'s,
has been spending most of the afternoon twiddling pencils and reading and
rereading two letters out of his pocket instead of righteously thinking up
layouts for the new United Steel Frame Pulley Campaign.
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