"Because he generally is--if he wants to be," said the Literary Man from
London.

Zora caught her breath. "Well of all--" she began.

"Yes, I know what you're going to say. Millions of women have said it and
eaten their words. Why should you--beautiful as you are--be an exception to
the law of life? You're going out to suck the honey of the world, and
men's hearts will be your flowers. Instinct will drive you. You won't be
able to get away from it. You think you're going to be thrilled into
passionate raptures by cathedrals and expensive restaurants and the set
pieces of fashionable scenery. You're not. Your store of honey will consist
of emotional experiences of a primitive order. If not, I know nothing at
all about women."

"Do you know anything about them?" she asked sweetly.

"More than would be becoming of me to tell," he replied. "Anyhow," he
added, "that doesn't matter. I've made my prophecy. You'll tell me
afterwards, if I have the pleasure of seeing you again, whether it has come
true."

"It won't come true," said Zora.

"We shall see," said the wise man.

She dashed, that afternoon, into her sister's tiny flat in Chelsea. Emily,
taken by surprise, hastily stuffed to the bottom of her work-basket a man's
silk tie which she was knitting, and then greeted Zora affectionately.