I could
go on for ever--for ever and ever."
"Ah you know it's not always like this," I hastened to mention.
"Well, it's better than Boston."
"It isn't so good as Paris," I still more portentously noted.
"Oh I know all about Paris. There's no freshness in that. I feel as if
I had been there all the time."
"You mean you've heard so much of it?"
"Oh yes, nothing else for ten years."
I had come to talk with Miss Mavis because she was attractive, but I had
been rather conscious of the absence of a good topic, not feeling at
liberty to revert to Mr. Porterfield. She hadn't encouraged me, when I
spoke to her as we were leaving Boston, to go on with the history of my
acquaintance with this gentleman; and yet now, unexpectedly, she appeared
to imply--it was doubtless one of the disparities mentioned by Mrs.
Nettlepoint--that he might be glanced at without indelicacy.
"I see--you mean by letters," I remarked.
"We won't live in a good part. I know enough to know that," she went on.
"Well, it isn't as if there were any very bad ones," I answered
reassuringly.
"Why Mr. Nettlepoint says it's regular mean."
"And to what does he apply that expression?"
She eyed me a moment as if I were elegant at her expense, but she
answered my question.
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