"There's something about fine weather!"

"Yes."

"It's--it's--well, fine weather's so much finer than weather that isn't
fine," said Mortimer.

He looked at the girl a little anxiously, fearing he might be taking
her out of her depth, but she seemed to have followed his train of
thought perfectly.

"Yes, isn't it?" she said. "It's so--so fine."

"That's just what I meant," said Mortimer. "So fine. You've just hit
it."

He was charmed. The combination of beauty with intelligence is so rare.

"I see you've hurt your wrist," he went on, pointing to the sling.

"Yes. I strained it a little playing in the championship."

"The championship?" Mortimer was interested. "It's awfully rude of me,"
he said, apologetically, "but I didn't catch your name just now."

"My name is Somerset."

Mortimer had been bending forward solicitously. He overbalanced and
nearly fell off his chair. The shock had been stunning. Even before he