You see, it's the first time I've
dined at a first-class place since I'm in New York."
"You don't mean that."
She nodded, smiling.
"I think I'm as surprised as you are. It's just one of the things that
never occurred to me."
He regarded her for a long moment and without smile.
"You queer, queer girl."
"If anyone tells me that again, I'll begin to believe it is my
inevitable epitaph."
"No epitaph is inevitable. It is what you write it."
She leaned her chin into the cup of her palm.
"Do you think that?"
"Yes, and therefore yours should embody courage and dauntless idealism
and love of truth."
She looked off through the atmosphere that was talcy with soft odors and
the warm perfume of bare shoulders.
"Love of truth," she said, her eyes lit, "would be enough."
"Love of you, would be an epitaph to my liking."
She was afraid he could see the little beating at her throat and wanted
to be facetious. Poor Lilly, to whom persiflage came none too readily.
"Now, you're making sport of me."
"Probably it is a case of laugh that I may not weep."
"Even tears can be idle.
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