"Not quite in your sense of the word, I fancy. I met her a number
of times at the houses of mutual friends in Boston. She was studying
at the Conservatory."

"But she isn't a Bostonian," said Winton confidently.

"Miss Virginia?--hardly. She is a Carteret of the Carterets;
Virginia-born-bred-and-named. Stunning girl, isn't she?"

"No," said Winton shortly, resenting the slang for no reason that
he could have set forth in words.

Adams lighted another of the scented villainies, and his clean-shaven
face wrinkled itself in a slow smile.

"Which means that she has winged you at sight, I suppose, as she does
most men." Then he added calmly, "It's no go."

"What is 'no go'?"

Adams laughed unfeelingly, and puffed away at his cigarette.

"You remind me of the fable about the head-hiding ostrich. Didn't
I see you staring at her as if you were about to have a fit? But it
is just as I tell you: it's no go. She isn't the marrying kind. If
you knew her, she'd be nice to you till she got a good chance to flay
you alive--"

"Break it off!" growled Winton.