She reflected.

"Something light," she decided; "something airy and effervescent--with
no problems or even thoughts in it."

His eyes twinkled as he smiled at her. If these were her tastes, she
was getting on, he reflected, and the vista of the long day before him
offered attractions.

"'Peter Pan'!" he exclaimed. "That's all those things. I've not seen
it, but I've read the criticisms, and I know a fellow who has gone
five times."

"Testimony enough," agreed his companion. "We'll go to 'Peter Pan.'
Now tell me something about yourself."

"Is that in the bond?"

"No. That would be a gift."

"I'd--I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

He indulged in his inevitable painful blush as he spoke, but she
stared at him without pity and with a sudden hauteur which gave him a
glimpse of another side of her complex nature. This woman who picked
up strange youths in the street and spent the day with them was
obviously accustomed to unquestioning deference from others. He edged
away from her, firm but unhappy.

"You're right," she said, at last. "We'll add a clause to our compact