"Oh, there's no 'why' about it, of course. It's the impression of you I had, that's all. You see, you don't particularly admire Miss Belchamber----" "Oh, come! I think Miss Belchamber's an exceedingly nice girl, only----" "Well, Laura Beamish, then. But I forgot; you don't go to Walter's Lectures. But I wonder whether you'd admire Laura?" "If she's black and Spanish you think I should?" He paused. "Is she?" "No. Brown and stringy rather, and with eyes that open and shut very quickly.... But I'm very absurd. There's no Law about these things really. Only, you see, I've no idea of the kind of woman you _do_ admire?" She said it smilingly, but that did not mean that she was not perfectly candid and natural about it too. Why not be natural about these things? Amory knew people who were natural enough about their preferred foods and clothing and houses; was a woman less than an entrée, or a bungalow, or a summer overcoat? Besides, it was so very much more intrinsically interesting. Walter Wyron had made a whole Lecture on it--Lecture No. II, "_Types and Tact_," and Walter had barely touched the fringe of the subject. Amory wanted to go a little deeper than that. But she also wanted to get away from those vulgarized words and ready-made conclusions, and to have each case considered on its merits. Surely it ought to be possible to say that the presence of a person affected you pleasantly, or unpleasantly, without sniggering inferences of a _liaison_ in the one case or of a rupture in the other! Therefore it was once more just a little irritating that Mr. Strong, instead of telling her what type he did admire, should merely laugh and say, "Well--not Mrs. Tasker." If Amory had a criticism at all to make of Mr. Strong it was this habit of his of negatives, that sometimes almost justified the nickname Mr. Brimby had given him, of "Stone Wall Strong." So she dropped one hand from her chin, allowing it to hang loose over her knee while the other forearm still kept its swan's-neck curve, and said abruptly, "Well--about the Indian Number. Let's get on." "Ah, yes," said Mr. Strong. "Let's get on." "What had we decided?" "Only Prang's article so far." "But you say you have your doubts about it?" Mr. Strong hesitated. "Only about its selling-power," he said with a little shrug. "We must sell the paper, you see. It's not paying its way yet." "Well, I'm sure that's not Mr. Prang's fault," Amory retorted. "He's practically made the export circulation." "You mean the Bombay circulation? Yes, I suppose he has. I don't deny it." "You can't deny it. Since Prang began to write for us we've done awfully well in Bombay." To that too, Mr. Strong assented. Then Amory, after a moment's pause, spoke quietly. She did not like to think of her editor as jealous of his own contributors. "I know you don't like Mr. Prang," she said, looking fixedly at the asbestos log. "I!" began Stone Wall Strong. "Why, you know I think he's a first rate fellow, if only----"