Now and then she crooned some damned fool thing to me.... I rubbed her temples.... She kissed the palms of my hands and called me a “little jewel.” After a while she began asking questions, in a sort of lazy, unconcerned manner, about my work, about General Backett, my sister, Captain Winstead.... “You rather like the Captain, n’est-ce pas?” I said. “I think he is too dear to be true,” she said, and it sounded very genuine to me. “He is very charming, and very clever.... Your sister never need envy anyone else.” “I think he’s a peach of a fellow,” I said, trying to sound sort of fraternal about it. “He’s been very good to me since I came to Paris ... and I certainly owe him something for introducing me to you and your circle of jolly friends.” “Oh—you dear kid.” And she laid herself snugly against me, then pulled my face down to be kissed. “You’re the most comfortable and attentive thing to have about.... Do come often and stay late.” ... Yet, somehow or other she succeeded in separating me from that divan a half hour before eleven! I found myself at home, waiting for Ben to come—probably with all sheets in the wind. —4— Saw my Captain next day at noon and told him about the Frenchman. He knew about him already. “She’s been playing around with him for several weeks,” he told me. “However, keep your eyes open—you may hear her pass on some remark that old Poiquerre makes.” So I called up the Madame that evening and asked if she minded my dropping in. “The Captain is still busy and I’m at a loss to know what to do with myself.” “Didn’t I tell you to come any time and stay late,” she replied laughingly. “Do come over—by all means, you charming baby.” I hung up without much respect for the telephone. All this sweet flattery and cooing condescension wasn’t getting me anywhere.... But I went over and there was a little crowd there, dancing and talking about everything from military tactics to the Legion of Honor and funerals. I found myself paired off with a little blond girl by the name of Germaine. She was jolly and talkative and not quite so beaucoup pashe as most of Madame’s friends. We had a pleasant time of it, and she complimented me upon my dancing and even went so far as to tell Madame she “really should dance with him. He’s marvelous, Ada!” So Ada and I danced—very nicely, too, and afterwards she pressed my arm and told me it was “divine!—I’m afraid the captain was right in what he said about ‘these quiet little devils.’... Some woman will love you to shreds if you aren’t careful.” And she laughed that enchanting silvery chuckle that I’d been simply fascinated by time and again.