The whistling did not seem to break through the smoke which surrounded Wayne.

After several moments of ostentatious indifference, she threw out at him, with a conspicuous yawn: "Well, Wayne, what did you think of the terrifying jeune fille ?" Wayne's reply was long in coming, simple, quiet, and queer: "She's a lady." Startled, peculiarly gratified, impishly delighted, she yet replied lightly: "A lady, is she?
Um.

Once at school one of the girls said she had a 'trade-last' for me, and after I had searched the closets of memory and dragged out that some one had said she had pretty eyes, dressed it up until this some one had called her ravishingly beautiful--after all that conscientious dishonesty what does she tell me but that some one had said I was so 'clean-looking.' One rather takes 'clean-looking' for granted! Even so with our friends being ladies.

Quaint old word for you to resurrect, Wayne." "Yes," he laughed, "quite quaint.

But she seems to me just that old-fashioned thing our forefathers called a lady.