other pleasures as well, joining in enthusiasm with Vincent over a certain Belasco success of four seasons ago, going on afterwards, in imagination to the Follies, or for supper and to dance at the Biltmore. "Oh, I love to be frivolous!" she tucked in. All the way down Fifth Avenue from the Plaza for tea, to Sherry's for dinner, or Rector's if one is traveling in a suit-case and likes a cabaret, she suggested—they reminisced, compared, and exchanged opinions. Not once, Vincent observed, did the stranger allow the conversation to wander outside the great American playground.
He was aware of his mother's tactics. This young person had evidently been warned. However her performance was none the less remarkable and it was with sincere admiration that he exclaimed at last, "You're a marvel! Do you realize that you've been talking to me for over an hour and haven't mentioned the war?"
She surveyed him blankly.
"The war!" she exclaimed. "What war?"
Really she was too good to be true!
"I was referring," he replied lightly, "to that little scrap over on the other side of the pond."
"Oh, that! Humph!" she shrugged her pretty shoulders. "That's a long way off. That's nothing to me."
