There were three types of women in society, in Persy's estimation. A flirt would take the opening and insist upon knowing what he thought her best quality to be. A less secure young lady might fret about what was her least flattering quality. And then, of course, there was Percy herself, who filed the interaction away as relatively insubstantial.

"It was my mother," she supplied, with a short, soft, but genuine laugh. "She would, I think, prefer if my ambitions were more conventional, but were that the case, I expect I would have even less to discuss with you, Mr. Applegate, than the ant woman."