'Well, I think you might know what's the matter with her.

You don't suppose she's made of stone, do you ?' Charley saw that he was in for it.

It was in vain that Norman's last word was still ringing in his ears.

'Excelsior!' What had he to do with 'Excelsior ?' What miserable reptile on God's earth was more prone to crawl downwards than he had shown himself to be?
And then again a vision floated across his mind's eye of a young sweet angel face with large bright eyes, with soft delicate skin, and all the exquisite charms of gentle birth and gentle nurture.
A single soft touch seemed to press his arm, a touch that he had so often felt, and had never felt without acknowledging to himself that there was something in it almost divine.

All this passed rapidly through his mind, as he was preparing to answer Mrs.Davis's question touching Norah Geraghty.
'You don't think she's made of stone, do you ?' said the widow, repeating her words.
'Indeed I don't think she's made of anything but what's suitable to a very nice young woman,' said Charley.
'A nice young woman! Is that all you can say for her?
I call her a very fine girl.' Miss Golightly's friends could not say anything more, even for that young lady.