"It will make me simply ill--I could _never_ describe to you," said
Miriam, with her face aglow, "what it is to me to hear some silly man
drone away with an undistributed middle term."

"They're not all like that."

"Oh, well, then it will be ignoratio elenchi or argumentum ad hominem--"

"Oh, yes, but they're not the _service_."

"The service I can't make head or tail of--think of the Athanasian."

"Yes." Eve stirred uneasily and began to execute a gentle scale with
her tiny tightly-knit blue and white hand upon her knee.

"It'll be ghastly," continued Miriam, "not having anyone to pour out
to--I've told you such a lot these last few days."

"Yes, hasn't it been funny? I seem to know you all at once so much
better."

"Well--don't you think I'm perfectly hateful?"

"No. I admire you more than ever. I think you're simply splendid."

"Then you simply don't know me."

"Yes I do. And you'll be able to write to me."