'I am sure we will have nothing in common,' she replied.
'I know, but that is why you should meet him. You say you want to be a novelist, and if so, some time, you may want to put in some such gallant rascal as our friend Jones. Yet you are afraid to meet him.'
'Even you, who are his friend, call him a rascal.'
'Yes, he considers himself one. The fellow is a born advertiser. He knows that being a Mohammedan, with a reputation for...adventure, is good business. Miss Bardeen, I believe you are the only lady in Boston who is not languishing to meet him. This is certainly a case of casting the swine before the pearl.' Both laughed and Lanice swung about. She tipped back her head a little, and for some reason suddenly looked pretty.
'Bring him in, by all means. "Hearth and Home" might run a series of articles about how they make bread and bring up children and marry in Arabia.'
'Everything that is fit for a lady to know about Arabia.'
'That's what I don't like about the man and his nasty country,' said Lanice rather hotly. 'Mr. Fox and Mr. Trelawney, you, every one, are always suggesting that there is so much that a lady shouldn't know, I think I'd rather know nothing. But bring him in. It will be, after all, but a business meeting.'
Three days later, her sage-green portières were pushed aside. Sears Ripley and a strange young man
