As I had foreseen, when she and Jerry went off to the Museum, I was left to the poor relation. She was tall, had a Roman nose, black hair, folded straight over her ears, and wore glasses. When I approached she was examining a volume on the library table, a small volume, a thin study of modern women that I had picked up at a book store in town. Miss Gore smiled as she put the volume down, essaying, I suppose, that air of cheerfulness of which Jerry had boasted.
"'Modern Woman,'" she said in a slow and rather deep voice, and then turning calmly, "I was led to, understand, Mr. Canby, that you weren't interested in trifles."
"I'm not," I replied, "but I can't deny their existence."
"_Could_, Miss Gore," I corrected. "The Golden Age has passed."
I didn't feel like being polite. Nothing is so maddening to me as cheerfulness in others when I have suddenly been awakened. Her smile faded at once."
"I didn't come of my own volition," she said icily. "And I will not bother you if you want to go to sleep again."
"Oh, thanks," I replied. "It doesn't matter."
She had turned her back on me and walked to the window.
"Would you like to see the English Garden?" I asked, suddenly aware of my inhospitality.
"Yes, if you'll permit me to visit it alone."
That wasn't to be thought of. After all she was only obeying orders. I followed her out of doors, hastening to join her.
"I owe you an apology. I'm not much used to the society of women. They annoy me exceedingly."
She looked around at me quizzically, very much amused.
"You consider that an apology?" she asked.
"I intended it to be one," I replied. "I have been rude. I hope you'll forgive me."
"You _are_ a philosopher, I see," she said with a smile. "I am sorry to annoy you."
"Y--you don't, I think. You seem to be a sensible sort of a person."
"Don't bother, Mr. Canby. We're well met. I'm not fond of meaningless personalities--or the authors of them."
She really was a proper sort of a person. Her conversation had no frills or fal-lals, and she wasn't afraid to say what she thought. Presently we began speaking the same language. We talked of the country, the wonderful weather and of Jerry, to whom it seemed she had taken a fancy.
"You've created something, Mr. Canby--a rare thing in this age--" she looked off into the distance, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But he can't remain as he is."