' And what about your new bridge--
in Canada, isn't it, and it's to be the longest
one in the world and has some queer name I
can't remember."
Bartley shook his head and smiled drolly.
"Since when have you been interested in
bridges? Or have you learned to be interested
in everything? And is that a part of success?"
"Why, how absurd! As if I were not
always interested!" Hilda exclaimed.
"Well, I think we won't talk about bridges here,
at any rate." Bartley looked down at the toe
of her yellow slipper which was tapping the rug
impatiently under the hem of her gown.
"But I wonder whether you'd think me impertinent
if I asked you to let me come to see you sometime
and tell you about them?"
"Why should I? Ever so many people
come on Sunday afternoons."
"I know. Mainhall offered to take me.
But you must know that I've been in London
several times within the last few years, and
you might very well think that just now is a
rather inopportune time--"
She cut him short. "Nonsense. One of the
pleasantest things about success is that it
makes people want to look one up, if that's
what you mean. I'm like every one else--
more agreeable to meet when things are going
well with me. Don't you suppose it gives me
any pleasure to do something that people like?"
"Does it? Oh, how fine it all is, your
coming on like this! But I didn't want you to
think it was because of that I wanted to see you.
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