“It is no reason at all,” she broke out. “They are no friends of yours to desert you in your extremity.”
“Well, well, Jennie, there are only three or four.”
“Let me know their names?”
“And why?” he asked, laughing. “Are you going to put them in your black book?”
“No matter. I want to know their names,” she excitedly replied.
“Well, since it must be, it must be,” he said, resignedly. “First, there is Ellis Branson. Have you him down?”
“Yes. Go on,” she said, writing down the name.
“Harry Howard.”
“Proceed.”
“James Milton.”