Her father is the most popular
portrait painter in the country, I am almost tempted to say that he is
the most popular _man_, as well. All the old charm and magnetism are
there. Sometimes I watch him (for, of course, I _do_ go out with him
once in a while), and always I think of that first day I saw him at
college. Brilliant, polished, witty--he still dominates every group of
which he is a member. Men and women alike bow to his charm. (I'm glad
it's not _only_ the women. Jerry isn't a bit of a flirt. I will say
that much for him. At any rate, if he does flirt, he flirts just as
desperately with old Judge Randlett as he does with the newest and
prettiest _debutante_: with serene impartiality he bestows upon each
the same glances, the same wit, the same adorable charm.) Praise,
attention, applause, music, laughter, lights--they are the breath of
life to him. Without them he would--But, there, he never _is_ without
them, so I don't know what he would be.
After all, I suspect that it's just that Jerry still loves the
ice-cream and the sunsets, and I don't. That's all. To me there's
something more to life than that--something higher, deeper, more
worth while. We haven't a taste in common, a thought in unison, an
aspiration in harmony.
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