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 on any book or thing, he could forgive her much. But she finished lamely, and his flash of interest died. "It's peculiah," she said.

"Yah," he agreed vacantly. He put the book down and seizing a little chair thrust it between his knees, so that he sat eyeing Eunice above the back of it. "What's on your mind? What did you want to see me about?"

"Oh—lots of things," she evaded. "Let's not talk about that right off. Let's talk about you foah awhile. Why haven't you been to see me foah almost two weeks, Jock?"

Her perennial query; but before he could give his perennial excuse of busyness, she had veered to a new tack. "I saw you today."

"Is that a fact?"

"Didn't you see me?"

"Yes, I believe I did."

"Was that the woman you were tellin' me about last fall—the one you said had 'a mouth like Cleopatra's kiss'?"

Jock remembered having said this. But he wished very much that he had not. It sounded ridiculous, puerile, when Eunice quoted it. . . . He bowed stiffly in affirmation.

"But I thought you told me she was pretty!"

"Well, my God, isn't she?"

Eunice hesitated, running the tip of her tongue over her lips. "If you want me to be perfectly frank, Jock," she said at last," she looked a little bit passé to me. She must be yeahs and yeahs oldah than you, of cohse."

Jock started; then chuckled derisively. "In Defense of Women—no wonder it had to be written by a man! Honestly, Eunice, you burn me up! You wouldn't