“Yes,” he said deliberately, “I do.  I don’t know how interesting, because—­I never quite realised how—­how you had matured. . . .  That was my stupidity.”

“Captain Selwyn!” in confused triumph; “you never gave me a chance; I mean, you always were nice in—­in the same way you are to Drina. . . .  I liked it—­don’t please misunderstand—­only I knew there was something else to me—­something more nearly your own age.  It was jolly to know you were really fond of me—­but youthful sisters grow faster than you imagine. . . .  And now, when you come, I shall venture to believe it is not wholly to do me a kindness—­but—­a little—­to do yourself one, too.  Is that not the basis of friendship?”

“Yes.”

“Community and equality of interests?—­isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“—­And—­in which the—­the charity of superior experience and the inattention of intellectual preoccupation and the amused concession to ignorance must steadily, if gradually, disappear?  Is that it, too?”

Astonishment and chagrin at his misconception of her gave place to outright laughter at his own expense.

“Where on earth did you—­I mean that I am quite overwhelmed under your cutting indictment of me.  Old duffers of my age—­”

“Don’t say that,” she said; “that is pleading guilty to the indictment, and reverting to the old footing.  I shall not permit you to go back.”

“I don’t want to, Eileen—­”

“I am wondering,” she said airily, “about that ‘Eileen.’  I’m not sure but that easy and fluent ‘Eileen’ is part of the indictment.  What do you call Gladys Orchil, for example?”

“What do I care what I call anybody?” he retorted, laughing, “as long as they

     “’Answer to “Hi!”
     Or to any loud cry’?”

“But I won’t answer to ‘Hi!’” she retorted very promptly; “and now that you admit that I am a ‘good time,’ a mature individual with distinguishing characteristics, and your intellectual equal if not your peer in experience, I’m not sure that I shall answer at all whenever you begin ‘Eileen.’  Or I shall take my time about it—­or I may even reflect and look straight through you before I reply—­or,” she added, “I may be so profoundly preoccupied with important matters which do not concern you, that I might not even hear you speak at all.”

Their light-hearted laughter mingled delightfully—­fresh, free, uncontrolled, peal after peal.  She sat huddled up like a schoolgirl, lovely head thrown back, her white hands clasping her knees; he, both feet squarely on the floor, leaned forward, his laughter echoing hers.

“What nonsense!  What blessed nonsense you and I are talking!” she said, “but it has made me quite happy.  Now you may go to your club and your mysterious man-talk—­”

“I don’t want to—­”

“Oh, but you must!”—­she was now dismissing him—­“because, although I am convalescent, I am a little tired, and Nina’s maid is waiting to tuck me in.”