"And then I'm fastidious. Are you?"
"I hope not!" said Andy, with an amused chuckle. A great lump of a fellow like him fastidious!
"Father doesn't like that either, and I've got to get over it."
"How does it—er—take you?" Andy made bold to inquire.
"Oh, lots of ways. I hate dirt, and dust, and getting very hot, and going into butchers' shops, and—"
"Butchers' shops!" exclaimed Andy, rather hit on the raw. "You eat meat, don't you?"
"Things don't look half as dead when they're cooked. I couldn't touch a butcher!" Horror rang in her tones.
"Oh, but I say, Jack Rock's a butcher, and he's about the best fellow in Meriton. You know him?"
"I've seen him," she admitted reluctantly, the subject being evidently distasteful.
For the second time Andy Hayes was conscious of a duty: he must not be—or seem—ashamed of Jack Rock, just because this girl was fastidious.