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 her good humor, there was an air, a manner, a something capable and defensive about this girl with which he could not imagine any man venturing to take liberties. The gold-brown eyes, as they met his now, were friendly and smiling, but he could imagine them freezing into a stare baleful enough and haughty enough to quell such a person as the silk-hatted young man with a single glance. Why then had that superfatted individual been able to demoralize her to the extent of flying to the shelter of strange cabs? She was composed enough now, it was true, but it had been quite plain that at the moment when she entered the taxi her nerve had momentarily forsaken her. These were mysteries here beyond George.

The girl looked steadily at George and George looked steadily at her for the space of perhaps ten seconds. She seemed to George to be summing him up, weighing him. That the inspection proved satisfactory was shown by the fact that at the end of this period she smiled. Then she laughed, a clear, pealing laugh which to George was far more musical than the most popular song hit he had ever written.

“I suppose you are wondering what it’s all about?” she said.

This was precisely what George was wondering most consumedly.

“No, no,” he said, “not at all. It’s not my business.”

“And of course you’re much too well-bred to be inquisitive about other people’s business?”

“Of course I am. What was it all about?”

“I'm afraid I can’t tell you.”

“But what am I to say to the cabman?”

“I don’t know. What do men usually say to cabmen?”