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“What’s that?”

“It’s a man—or woman, for there are lots and lots of female rotters—it’s a person who—well, you always know just what they are going to do before they do it, and just what they’re going to say before they say it.”

“That sounds like good marrying material. You know, you don’t want surprises in married life.”

“Chang, how can I live through it?” she cried despondently.

“You say you’ve got lots of tastes, all expensive. So—marry him.”

“He’s really very good-looking,” pursued Rix, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. “And he dresses beautifully—has everything just right. There isn’t a thing against him—except—” And there she halted, as if she were not quite certain whether after all there was a positive objection to the man.

“Except—what?” inquired he, impatient at the long pause at the most exciting point in the recital.

She secretly delighted in the success of her ruse. But she said plaintively: “Oh, you’re not interested. You’re not listening.”

“I’m sure you’re catching a hideous cold. Of all the absurd, silly performances——”