"
"It's the pleasantest way to address you until I know your name."
"You might call me madame!"
"Perish the thought! I refuse to imagine you married."
"I might be a widow."
"No."
"Or even a divorcee."
"And you might be a grandmother," he added.
"Yes."
"And doing the Maxixe at the Willard, this minute."
"Yes!" she laughed.
"But you aren't; and no more are you a widow or a divorcee."
"All of which is charming of you, Mr. Harleston but it's not exactly the
business I have in hand."
"Business at two o'clock in the morning!" he exclaimed.
He had tried to place the voice, and had failed; he was becoming
convinced that he had not heard it before.
"What else would justify me in disturbing you?" she asked.
"Yourself, mademoiselle. Let us continue the pleasant conversation and
forget business until business hours."
"When are your business hours, Mr. Harleston--and where's your office?"
"I have no office--and my business hours depend on the business in
hand."
"And the business in hand depends primarily on whether you are
interested in the subject matter of the business, _n'est-ce pas_?"
"I am profoundly interested, mademoiselle, in any matter that concerns
you--as well as in yourself.
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