you are _almost_--that it was nearly a bit of cheek on my part. I
don't blame you. You're spoilt, all of you. The girls you take out
earn their dinners and stalls too conscientiously; no matter how dull
you are, they take pains to shine. Frankly, if _you_ take
_me_ out, _you've_ got to shine. I demand it. And you'd be
surprised at the number of invitations an exacting thing like me
gets."

"No, I shouldn't," said Rokeby softly, bending his head to look with a
new interest at her face. "That's sheer cleverness, that is; that's
brilliance. You've seized it. A woman should have confidence to demand
and get."

"Women are too humble."

"I never found them so," Rokeby denied respectfully.

"Well, half of them are too humble, and the other half are
slave-drivers. If a girl's got to choose one or the other, she'd
better drive."

"That's awf'ly sound," said Rokeby.

They neared a taxicab rank, and the first driver watched their
approach with inquiring signal. "Cab!" Rokeby sang out, and the man
started his engine.

"Where are we going?" Julia asked.

"Where you like," Desmond answered, "only let's start there."