"I want to know all sorts of people." Again I tilted Kitty's hat,
held her off so as to get a better effect. "You see, I've wondered
sometimes what they thought of us--these people who haven't had our
chance. Points of view always interest me."

"What difference does it make what they think? You're the queerest
person I've ever known! You aren't very religious. You never did go
to church as much as I did. Are you going in for slums?"

"I am not. I wouldn't be a success at slumming. I'm not going in
for anything except--"

"Except what?"

"My dear Kitty," I picked up the handkerchief she had dropped and put
it on the table, "I wouldn't try to understand, if I were you, why
people do things. Usually it's because they have to, or because they
want to, and occasionally there are other reasons. I used to wonder,
for instance, why certain people married each other. Often now, as I
watch husbands and wives together, I still wonder if, unmarried, they
would select each other again. I suppose you went to the Bertrands'
dinner-dance last night?"

"I went, but I wish I hadn't. Billy didn't want to go, and we came
away as soon as we could. Everybody asked about you. I haven't seen
any one yet who doesn't think it very strange that you won't live
with me. That beautiful little Marie Antoinette suite on the third
floor is all fixed for you, and you could use the automobiles as much
as you choose. It's wicked and cruel in you to do like this and not
live with me. It looks so--"