"Why shouldn't we be friends now?"
Kitty flushed again, and moved uneasily, her agony of embarrassment mounting. Duane tilted her chair back and went on cheerfully:
"You don't seem in a hurry to speak. After all, there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends, is there?"
"I'm sorry," Kitty blurted out. "I'd rather not. You see——" she stopped.
"Well? Out with it!"
"It's the Richoter," poor Kitty went on, growing hotter and hotter, and angry with herself for feeling so uncomfortable under Duane's lazy, quizzical glance. "I—you see—I couldn't be friends with—with anyone who——"
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Duane. "You're mighty particular."
"I don't want to seem a prig. If it had been anything else—but—but that kind of thing——"
"Then, the Richoter affair aside, your only prejudice to admitting me to your—your circle of friends, would be gone?"
"I don't know," replied Kitty, frankly. "You can't make yourself be friends with anyone, you know. At any rate, I don't think so. We're so utterly unlike, aren't we?"