“About gowns,” said McKann, “I know even less than about music.  If I looked uncomfortable, it was probably because I was uncomfortable.  The seats were bad and the lights were annoying.”

Kitty looked up with solicitude.  “I was sorry they sold those seats.  I don’t like to make people uncomfortable in any way.  Did the lights give you a headache?  They are very trying.  They burn one’s eyes out in the end, I believe.”  She paused and waved the porter away with a smile as he came toward them.  Half-clad Pittsburghers were tramping up and down the aisle, casting sidelong glances at McKann and his companion.  “How much better they look with all their clothes on,” she murmured.  Then, turning directly to McKann again:  “I saw you were not well seated, but I felt something quite hostile and personal.  You were displeased with me.  Doubtless many people are, but I seldom get an opportunity to question them.  It would be nice if you took the trouble to tell me why you were displeased.”

She spoke frankly, pleasantly, without a shadow of challenge or hauteur.  She did not seem to be angling for compliments.  McKann settled himself in his seat.  He thought he would try her out.  She had come for it, and he would let her have it.  He found, however, that it was harder to formulate the grounds of his disapproval than he would have supposed.  Now that he sat face to face with her, now that she was leaning against his bag, he had no wish to hurt her.

“I’m a hard-headed business man,” he said evasively, “and I don’t much believe in any of you fluffy-ruffles people.  I have a sort of natural distrust of them all, the men more than the women.”

She looked thoughtful.  “Artists, you mean?” drawing her words slowly.  “What is your business?”

“Coal.”

“I don’t feel any natural distrust of business men, and I know ever so many.  I don’t know any coal-men, but I think I could become very much interested in coal.  Am I larger-minded than you?”

McKann laughed.  “I don’t think you know when you are interested or when you are not.  I don’t believe you know what it feels like to be really interested.  There is so much fake about your profession.  It’s an affectation on both sides.  I know a great many of the people who went to hear you tonight, and I know that most of them neither know nor care anything about music.  They imagine they do, because it’s supposed to be the proper thing.”

Kitty sat upright and looked interested.  She was certainly a lovely creature—­the only one of her tribe he had ever seen that he would cross the street to see again.  Those were remarkable eyes she had—­curious, penetrating, restless, somewhat impudent, but not at all dulled by self-conceit.

“But isn’t that so in everything?” she cried.  “How many of your clerks are honest because of a fine, individual sense of honour?  They are honest because it is the accepted rule of good conduct in business.  Do you know”—­she looked at him squarely—­“I thought you would have something quite definite to say to me; but this is funny-paper stuff, the sort of objection I’d expect from your office-boy.”