"I'm a perfect fright. I'm an old maid."

   "Thank you. Manlike, I confess I

    was

   hoping you'd be young and pretty. Now my hope has received the strongest confirmation. I'm sure you are," he declared triumphantly.

   "Your argument, with a meretricious air of subtlety, is facile and superficial. Don't pin your faith to it. Why

    shouldn't

   Victor Field be here?" she persisted.

   "The Countess only receives tremendous swells. It's the most exclusive house in Europe."

   "Are you a tremendous swell?" she wondered.

   "Rather!" he asseverated. "Aren't you?"

   She laughed a little, and stroked her fan, a big fan, a big fan of fluffy black feathers.

   "That's very jolly," said he.

   "What?" said she.

   "That thing in your lap."

   "My fan?"

   "I expect you'd call it a fan."

   "For goodness' sake, what would

    you

   call it?" cried she.

   "I should call it a fan."

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