this homebred talent came along," Ted muses.

"Well, you're the hell of a--"

Ted suddenly jerks into consciousness of what he has been saying.

"Sorry" he says, completely apologetic, "didn't mean a word I said, just
sorry for Billy, poor guy. 'Fraid it'll break him up pretty bad at first."
This seems to make matters rather worse and he changes the subject
abruptly. "How's Nancy?" he asks with what he hopes seems disconnected
indifference.

"Nancy? All right. Hates St. Louis, of course."

"Should think she might, this summer. Pretty hot there, isn't it?"

"Says it's like a wet furnace. And her family's bothering her some."

"Um, too bad."

"Oh, _I_ don't mind. But it's rotten for her. They don't see the point
exactly--don't know that I blame them. She could be in Paris, now--that
woman was ready to put up the money. My fault."

"Well, she seems to like things better the way they are--God knows why,
my antic friend! If it were _my_ question between you and a year studying
abroad! Not that you haven't your own subtle attractions, Ollie." Ted has
hoped to irritate Oliver into argument by the closing remark, but the
latter only accepts it with militant gloom.