"
"I should think there was!" I said.
"Then Maffy, you see, walks in. They don't seem to have much
conversation--she regularly brightens up when I come along and say
something cheerful--but he's gradually making up his mind that the best
isn't any too good for him."
"Perhaps we don't begin so well in America," I interrupted
thoughtfully. "But then, we don't develop into Mrs. P.'s either."
Dicky seemed unable to follow my line of thought. "I must say," he went
on resentfully, "I like--well, just a _smell_ of constancy about a man.
A fellow that's thrown over ought to be in about the same shape as a
widower. But not much Maffy. I tried to work up his feelings over the
American girl the other night--he was as calm!"
"Dicky," said I, "there are subjects a man _must_ keep sacred. You must
not speak to Mr. Mafferton of his first--attachment again. They never do
it in England, except for purposes of fiction."
"Well, I worked that racket all I knew. I even told him that American
girls as often as not changed their minds."
"_Richard!_ He will think I--what _will_ he think of American girls! It
was excessively wrong of you to say that--I might almost call it
criminal!"
Dicky looked at me in pained surprise.
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