"Mine goes
back only to 1912."
"Ah! I'm glad to score that one point," he said, still laughing. "Dear
Miss O'Malley, won't you please sit down? I'm a lazy fellow, and I'm so
tired of standing! Now, don't begin by being cross with me because I
call you 'dear.' If you realized what I've done for you, and what I'm
ready to do, you'd say I'd earned _that_ right, to begin with!"
"I don't understand you at all, or why you should claim any right," I
hedged. But I sat down, and he sank so heavily into an ancient,
plush-covered chair that a spray of dust flew up from the cushions.
"I'm afraid I'm rather too fat!" he apologized. "But I always lose flesh
motoring, so you'll see a change for the better, I hope--in a week or
two. I expect our lines will be cast in the same places for some time
to come--if you're as wise as--as you are pretty. If not, I'm afraid you
and Mr. O'Malley won't be long with our party. I say, you are gorgeous
when you're in a rage! But why fly into a fury? You told me you didn't
understand things. I'm doing my best to explain."
"Then your best is very bad," I said.
"Sorry! I'll begin another way. Listen! I'm going to be perfectly frank.
Why not? We're birds of a feather. And the pot can't call the kettle
black. Maybe my similes are a bit mixed, but you'll excuse that, as
we're both Irish. Why, my being Irish--and Italian--is an explanation of
me in itself, if you'd take the trouble to study it.
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