"I expect I have," said I ruefully, and with an anxious gaze at my coat. "It's rather an old coat, isn't it?"
"And the knees of your trousers!" pursued Jenny remorselessly.
They were atrocious—there was no denying it. "There's been nobody to dress for. I'll order a new suit to-morrow."
"Things begin to move directly I come back, don't they? Is there any news in the neighborhood?"
I told her my little budget, sketching it in as lightly as I could and with as little reference to herself. She fastened on the news about Eunice Aspenick.
"Grown up, of course, by now, isn't she? And you say she's pretty. Very pretty?"
"Not so very, in my judgment. Very fresh and healthy, and rather handsome."
Jenny smiled mysteriously. "Oh, that doesn't matter—if it comes to no more than that," she said contemptuously. She saw me smiling. "Oh, yes, I'm scheming again!" she declared with a laugh. "Not for myself, though. I've done with schemes about myself."
"At five-and-twenty?"
Jenny grew grave. "Things count, not years—or, anyhow, sooner than years. Have I any friends left?"