Part 3
knew, the young lady was standing, with enviable poise, beside my table. She was
wearing a tartan dress--a Campbell tartan, I believe. It seemed to me to be a wonderful
dress for a very young girl to be wearing on a rainy, rainy day. "I thought Americans
despised tea," she said.
It wasn't the observation of a smart aleck but that of a truth-lover or a statistics-lover.
I replied that some of us never drank anything but tea. I asked her if she'd care to join
me.
"Thank you," she said. "Perhaps for just a fraction of a moment."
I got up and drew a chair for her, the one opposite me, and she sat down on the
forward quarter of it, keeping her spine easily and beautifully straight. I went back--
almost hurried back--to my own chair, more than willing to hold up my end of a
conversation. When I was seated, I couldn't think of anything to say, though. I smiled
again, still keeping my coal-black filling under concealment. I remarked that it was
certainly a terrible day out.
"Yes; quite," said my guest, in the clear, unmistakable voice of a small-talk detester.
She placed her fingers flat on the table edge, like someone at a seance, then, almost
instantly, closed her hands--her nails were bitten down to the quick. She was wearing a
wristwatch, a military-looking one that looked rather like a navigator's chronograph. Its
face was much too large for her slender wrist. "You were at choir practice," she said
matter-of-factly. "I saw you."
I said I certainly had been, and that I had heard her voice singing separately from the
others. I said I thought she had a very fine voice.
She nodded. "I know. I'm going to be a professional singer."
"Really? Opera?"
"Heavens, no. I'm going to sing jazz on the radio and make heaps of money. Then,
when I'm thirty, I shall retire and live on a ranch in Ohio." She touched the top of her
soaking-wet head with the flat of her hand. "Do you know Ohio?" she asked.
I said I'd been through it on the train a few times but that I didn't really know it. I
offered her a piece of cinnamon toast.
"No, thank you," she said. "I eat like a bird, actually."
I bit into a piece of toast myself, and commented that there's some mighty rough
country around Ohio. "I know. An American I met told me. You're the eleventh
American I've met."
Her governess was now urgently signalling her to return to her own table--in effect, to
stop bothering the man. My guest, however, calmly moved her chair an inch or two so
that her back broke all possible further communication with the home table. "You go to
that secret Intelligence school on the hill, don't you?" she inquired coolly.
As security-minded as the next one, I replied that I was visiting Devonshire for my
health.
"Really," she said, "I wasn't quite bom yesterday, you know."
I said I'd bet she hadn't been, at that. I drank my tea for a moment. I was getting a
trifle posture-conscious and I sat up somewhat straighter in my seat.
"You seem quite intelligent for an American," my guest mused.
I told her that was a pretty snobbish thing to say, if you thought about it at all, and
that I hoped it was unworthy of her.
She blushed-automatically conferring on me the social poise I'd been missing. "Well.
Most of the Americans I've seen act like animals. They're forever punching one another
about, and insulting everyone, and--You know what one of them did?"
I shook my haad.
"One of them threw an empty whiskey bottle through my aunt's window. Fortunately,
the window was open. But does that sound very intelligent to you?"
It didn't especially, but I didn't say so. I said that many soldiers, all over the world,
were a long way from home, and that few of them had had many real advantages in life.
I said I'd thought that most people could figure that out for themselves.
"Possibly," said my guest, without conviction. She raised her hand to her wet head
again, picked at a few limp filaments of blond hair, trying to cover her exposed ear rims.
knew, the young lady was standing, with enviable poise, beside my table. She was
wearing a tartan dress--a Campbell tartan, I believe. It seemed to me to be a wonderful
dress for a very young girl to be wearing on a rainy, rainy day. "I thought Americans
despised tea," she said.
It wasn't the observation of a smart aleck but that of a truth-lover or a statistics-lover.
I replied that some of us never drank anything but tea. I asked her if she'd care to join
me.
"Thank you," she said. "Perhaps for just a fraction of a moment."
I got up and drew a chair for her, the one opposite me, and she sat down on the
forward quarter of it, keeping her spine easily and beautifully straight. I went back--
almost hurried back--to my own chair, more than willing to hold up my end of a
conversation. When I was seated, I couldn't think of anything to say, though. I smiled
again, still keeping my coal-black filling under concealment. I remarked that it was
certainly a terrible day out.
"Yes; quite," said my guest, in the clear, unmistakable voice of a small-talk detester.
She placed her fingers flat on the table edge, like someone at a seance, then, almost
instantly, closed her hands--her nails were bitten down to the quick. She was wearing a
wristwatch, a military-looking one that looked rather like a navigator's chronograph. Its
face was much too large for her slender wrist. "You were at choir practice," she said
matter-of-factly. "I saw you."
I said I certainly had been, and that I had heard her voice singing separately from the
others. I said I thought she had a very fine voice.
She nodded. "I know. I'm going to be a professional singer."
"Really? Opera?"
"Heavens, no. I'm going to sing jazz on the radio and make heaps of money. Then,
when I'm thirty, I shall retire and live on a ranch in Ohio." She touched the top of her
soaking-wet head with the flat of her hand. "Do you know Ohio?" she asked.
I said I'd been through it on the train a few times but that I didn't really know it. I
offered her a piece of cinnamon toast.
"No, thank you," she said. "I eat like a bird, actually."
I bit into a piece of toast myself, and commented that there's some mighty rough
country around Ohio. "I know. An American I met told me. You're the eleventh
American I've met."
Her governess was now urgently signalling her to return to her own table--in effect, to
stop bothering the man. My guest, however, calmly moved her chair an inch or two so
that her back broke all possible further communication with the home table. "You go to
that secret Intelligence school on the hill, don't you?" she inquired coolly.
As security-minded as the next one, I replied that I was visiting Devonshire for my
health.
"Really," she said, "I wasn't quite bom yesterday, you know."
I said I'd bet she hadn't been, at that. I drank my tea for a moment. I was getting a
trifle posture-conscious and I sat up somewhat straighter in my seat.
"You seem quite intelligent for an American," my guest mused.
I told her that was a pretty snobbish thing to say, if you thought about it at all, and
that I hoped it was unworthy of her.
She blushed-automatically conferring on me the social poise I'd been missing. "Well.
Most of the Americans I've seen act like animals. They're forever punching one another
about, and insulting everyone, and--You know what one of them did?"
I shook my haad.
"One of them threw an empty whiskey bottle through my aunt's window. Fortunately,
the window was open. But does that sound very intelligent to you?"
It didn't especially, but I didn't say so. I said that many soldiers, all over the world,
were a long way from home, and that few of them had had many real advantages in life.
I said I'd thought that most people could figure that out for themselves.
"Possibly," said my guest, without conviction. She raised her hand to her wet head
again, picked at a few limp filaments of blond hair, trying to cover her exposed ear rims.
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