The girl laughed, but with a certain constraint, so it seemed to him.
“Come, now,” she said, “if I must help you, let me see your list of proposed victims!”
“Do you know Dr. Pennington, the rector of St. Boniface’s, in Philadelphia?” he began. “Well, he has two daughters—nice girls, both of them—”
“Which one do you want?” asked the girl. “The tall one who squints, or the fat one with red hair?”
“Come, now,” he returned, “she doesn’t really squint, you know.”
“Call it a cast in her eye if you like; I don’t mind. It isn’t anything to me,” she asserted. “Is it the tall one you want?”
“I don’t care,” he answered.
“You don’t care?” she repeated.
“No,” he returned; “that’s why I’ve come to you. I don’t care. Which one do you recommend?”
“I don’t recommend either of them!” she responded, promptly. “I shouldn’t be a true friend if I let you throw yourself away on one of those frights!”