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“But I haven’t a taste for liquor. I hate it. I don’t care whether I drink a cocktail or not. Yes, I do. I’d much rather drink water.”

“I know you would,” cried Broke; “but no one else does. And when, to put it plainly, you have a couple, then——”

“Everyone knows I don’t drink.”

“But you do ... you are ... you’re inviting attention to the fact. Thoughtlessly, idly, of course. You don’t care a damn about liquor: but by having a second cocktail you’re declaring your liking for drink.”

“I don’t agree,” said Eve, “but supposing I am. Why shouldn’t I like my liquor?”

“I’ve tried to point out,” said Jeremy wearily, “that a taste for liquor doesn’t become you. But I think in your heart you know that. What you won’t see is that to drink two cocktails is tough.”

“I confess I can’t,” said Eve. “What’s more, I propose to drink two more to-night.”

“Look here,” said Broke, deliberately ignoring the glove. “It used to be the fashion to wear short skirts, usedn’t it? Very well. You subscribed to the fashion and wore them, too. But you didn’t exaggerate that fashion—turn out in a dress that stopped half-way to your knees, did you?”