Harleston blew a smoke ring at the big drop-light on the table and
watched it swirl under the cardinal shade.

"The cleverest woman I know is also the most beautiful," he replied.
"Yes, I can name her offhand. She has all the finesse of her sex,
together with the reasoning mind; she is surpassingly good to look at,
and knows how to use her looks to obtain her end; as the occasion
demands, she can be as cold as steel or warm as a summer's night; she--"

"How are her morals?" Rochester interrupted.

"Morals or the want of them do not, I take it, enter into the question,"
Harleston responded. "Cleverness is quite apart from morals."

"You have not named the wonderful one," Clarke reminded him.

"And I won't now. Rochester's impertinent question forbids introducing
her to this company. Moreover," as he drew out his watch, "it is
half-after-twelve of a fine spring night, and, unless we wish to be
turned out of the Club, we would better be going homeward or elsewhere.
Who's for a walk up the avenue?"

"I am--as far as Dupont Circle," said Clarke.

"All hands?" Harleston inquired.

"It's too late for exercise," Rochester declined; "and our way lies
athwart your path."