* * * * *
The Philosopher came and sat down by me.
"He's not really hit," said he presently; "he's only temporarily upset.
I was a trifle bowled over myself. She's certainly a stunning girl. But
when I try to recall what she and I talked about when we sat out here
together, at such times as he was willing to leave her in my company, I
have really no recollection. When it was too dark to see her
clothes--or her smile--I remember being once or twice distinctly bored.
Now--the Gay Lady--don't you think she always looks well?"
"Lovely," I agreed heartily.
"I may not know much about it, being a man," said he modestly, "but I
should naturally think the Gay Lady's clothes cost considerably less
than Miss Camellia's."
"Considerably."
"Though I never really thought about them before," he owned. "I don't
suppose a man usually does think much about a woman's clothes--unless
he's forced to. During this last week it occurs to me we've been forced
to--eh?"
"Somewhat." I was smiling to myself.
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