We'll tick off tabooed subjects, and make an _index
expurgatorius_, and then we'll get on famously."
"No need of that," he said. "As far as _I_ am concerned, please
consider _me_ fair game."
"Consider you fair game?" she said, with her head archly on one side.
"That would be arrant poaching. Don't fear, Graydon, I shall never
regard any man as game, not even if I should become a fat dowager with
a bevy of plain daughters and a dull market."
Grave and silent Mr. Muir leaned back in his chair and laughed so
heartily that he attracted attention at the Wildmere table across the
room.
"That man doesn't act as if on the brink of failure," thought Miss
Wildmere. "It's all a conspiracy of Arnault with papa."
"You are making game of me in one sense very successfully," Graydon
admitted, laughing a little uneasily.
"Oh, in that sense, all men are legitimate game, and I shall chaff as
many as possible, out of spite that I was not a man."
"You would make a good one--you are so devoid of sentiment and so
independent."
"And yet within a week I think a certain gentleman was inclined to
think me sentimental, aesthetic, intense, a victim of ideals and
devotional rhapsodies."
"Oh, ye gods! Here, waiter, bring me my dessert, and let me escape,"
cried Graydon.
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