"Nothing—only she made a face like I smelt bad, the old trout!"
"Don't mind her, my dear. She can't help sniffing at any woman who isn't strictly guaranteed."
"I'll bet she's not so hostile toward men."
"No, with them she requires rather a different sort of guarantee."
"What sort?"
"They must be warranted to say discreetly flattering things in public and make love to her in private, to put cushions under her feet, imply that she is young and fresh, instead of middle-aged and faded, amuse and bully her, compliment and insult her, and accept her manifold favours with grateful thanks."
"And do you pass the acid test?"
"Now who's asking personal questions?"
Gritty watched him over the rim of her coffee-cup. In her regard there was a trace of maternal solicitude.
"Why don't you drop this game, Paul?" she finally said. "You're a darn sight too good for it."
"What game?"
"Oh, I've got eyes. Why do you let yourself be squabbled over by third-rate women?"
Paul laughed at the vindictive sincerity of her tone. "I'm making excellent use of them."
"What do you get out of it?"
"Introductions, market tips, food, drink, and miscellaneous information."
"In return for?"
"Carefully weighed and measured doles of my external personality."
"And what good does the information do you?"
"The same kind of good that food does you when you're hungry. I've always been a glutton for experience, and experience is like Mohammed's mountain."
Gritty was not satisfied, but her eyes had been drawn
