His obviously artificial style of speech concealed, as she guessed, some real feeling.
"Oh, if you insist on disparaging yourself . . .!"
"I was quite as coolly correct as I apprehend him to be; and if I could only have contrived to compass the charming, as well, who knows what——?"
"You don't like my word. Is there a better, a more suitable?"
"No. You have the mot juste."
He threw a finger through the wide pane of glass. "Is that the sort of thing you are after? Those boxes of pale gray are rather good."
"I never buy from the show-window. Come in, and help me choose."
"I love to shop," he said, in a mock ecstasy. "With others," he added. "I like to follow money in—and to contribute taste and experience."
Over the stationer's counter she said:
"Save Sunday. We are going out to the sand-hills."
"Thank you. Very well. Most glad to."
"And you are to bring him."
"Him?"
"Bertram Cope."
"Why, I've given him six hours within two or three days. And now you're asking me to give him sixteen."
"Sixteen—or more. But you're not giving them to him. You're giving them to all of us. You're giving them to me. The day is likely to be fine and settled, and I'd recommend your catching the 8:30 train. I shall have my full load in the car. And more,
