Mr. Deacon, she asked, did you take me seriously when I told you I thought I might marry you?
Flushing and gulping, Ambrose emitted a hollow laugh and stammered, No-o, of course not. How could I?
She still stared at him as she declared: Well, I half meant it. Maybe I mean it still. You see, you are a kind of symbol to me.
Please, Miss Ford, he protested, adding, to his own great surprise, You are beautiful!
Apparently she did not hear this. She went on: You stand for a good deal to me. If I hadn't become interested in you I might never have found strength to drag myself out of the awful rut I was in. You see, I thought you were a great man.
But you don't any more!
Mr. Deacon, I'm a little disappointed that you have gone into the movies.
But . . .
I think it's all right for women to fool their time away in this circus. It's probably as good a thing as a woman with looks and no other way to support herself can find to do. It's all right for some men too, but you are a great writer, and I don't like to see
