"Now, perhaps we shall be able to talk for five minutes," she says.
"I've so often wanted to say that I shall never forgive you. You
have been simply horrid."

Again you are confused, until you jump to the conclusion that the
latter portion of the speech is probably intended for quite another
party with whom, at the moment, her back towards you, she is engaged
in a whispered conversation. When he is gone she turns again to you.
But the varied expressions that pass across her face while you are
discussing with her the disadvantages of Protection, bewilder you.
When, explaining your own difficulty in arriving at a conclusion, you
remark that Great Britain is an island, she roguishly shakes her
head. It is not that she has forgotten her geography, it is that she
is conducting a conversation by signs with a lady at the other end of
the room. When you observe that the working classes must be fed, she
smiles archly while murmuring:

"Oh, do you really think so?"

You are about to say something strong on the subject of dumping.
Apparently she has disappeared. You find that she is reaching round
behind you to tap a new arrival with her fan.

[She has the Art of Listening.]

Now, the American girl looks at you, and just listens to you with her
eyes fixed on you all the time. You gather that, as far as she is
concerned, the rest of the company are passing shadows. She wants to
hear what you have to say about Bi-metallism: her trouble is lest