I mean, before my husband passed on—and I used to make believe drive it, but I don't think any woman ever learns to drive like a man."
"Well, now, there's some mighty good woman drivers."
"Oh, of course, these women that try to imitate men, and play golf and everything, and ruin their complexions and spoil their hands!"
"That's so. I never did like these mannish females."
"I mean—of course, I admire them, dreadfully, and I feel so weak and useless beside them."
"Oh, rats now! I bet you play the piano like a wiz."
"Oh, no—I mean—not really."
"Well, I'll bet you do!" He glanced at her smooth hands, her diamond and ruby rings. She caught the glance, snuggled her hands together with a kittenish curving of slim white fingers which delighted him, and yearned:
"I do love to play—I mean—I like to drum on the piano, but I haven't had any real training. Mr. Judique used to say I would 've been a good pianist if I'd had any training, but then, I guess he was just flattering me."
"I'll bet he wasn't! I'll bet you've got temperament."
"Oh—Do you like music, Mr Babbitt?"
"You bet I do! Only I don't know 's I care so much for all this classical stuff."
"Oh, I do! I just love Chopin and all those."
"Do you, honest? Well, of course, I go to lots of these highbrow concerts, but I do like a good jazz orchestra, right up on its toes, with the fellow that plays the bass fiddle spinning it around and beating it up with the bow."
"Oh, I know. I do love good dance music. I love to dance, don't you, Mr. Babbitt?"
"Sure, you bet. Not that I'm very darn good at it, though."
"Oh, I'm sure you are. You ought to let me teach you. I can teach anybody to dance."
"Would you give me a lesson some time?"
