``Oh, you affect me in many different ways,'' returned Clay, cheerfully.``Sometimes I am very much afraid of you, and then again my feelings are only those of unlimited admiration.''
``There, again, what did I tell you?'' said Miss Langham.
``Well, I can't help doing that,'' said Clay.``That is one of the few privileges that is left to a man in my position--it doesn't matter what I say.That is the advantage of being of no account and hopelessly detrimental.The eligible men of the world, you see, have to be so very careful.A Prime Minister, for instance, can't talk as he wishes, and call names if he wants to, or write letters, even.Whatever he says is so important, because he says it, that he must be very discreet.I am so unimportant that no one minds what I say, and so I say it.It's the only comfort I have.''
``Are you in the habit of going around the world saying whatever you choose to every woman you happen to--to--'' Miss Langham hesitated.
``To admire very much,'' suggested Clay.
``To meet,'' corrected Miss Langham.``Because, if you are, it is a very dangerous and selfish practice, and I think your theory of non-responsibility is a very wicked one.''
``Well, I wouldn't say it to a child,'' mused Clay, ``but to one who must have heard it before--''
``And who, you think, would like to hear it again, perhaps,''
interrupted Miss Langham.
``No, not at all,'' said Clay.``I don't say it to give her pleasure, but because it gives me pleasure to say what I think.''
``If we are to continue good friends, Mr.Clay,'' said Miss Langham, in decisive tones, ``we must keep our relationship on more of a social and less of a personal basis.It was all very well that first night I met you,'' she went on, in a kindly tone.