Herbert Courtland could not but feel that Phyllis intended to be friendly with him--even at the risk of being within audible distance of the strong man who was fighting a duel /a outrance/ with a grand piano; and as he desired to be on friendly terms with a girl in whom he was greatly interested, he was very much pleased to find her showing no disposition to return to the tea room, or any other room, until quite half an hour had gone by very pleasantly. And then she did so with a start: the start of a girl who suddenly remembers a duty-- and regrets it.
That had pleased him greatly; he felt it to be rather a triumph for him that by his side she had not only forgotten her duty but was glad she had forgotten it.
"Oh, yes!" she said, in answer to his question, "I have two other places to go to. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry that you remembered them?" he had suggested.
"What would happen if--I had continued forgetting them?" she asked.
"That is the most interesting question I have heard in some time. Why not try to continue forgetting them?"
"I'm too great a coward," she replied, putting out her hand to him, for now her victoria had drawn up and the footman was standing ready to open the door.
"Oh, no! only /au revoir/," she murmured.