“Lord forbid! Does that information entitle me to any in return?”
“I don't know; but, whether or no, my name is Rhoda Gale.”
“Have another plate, Miss Gale?”
“Thanks.”
He ordered another.
“I am proud of your confiding your name to me, Miss Gale; but, to tell the truth, what I wanted to know is how a young lady of your talent and education could be so badly off as you must be. It is not impertinent curiosity.”
The young lady reflected a moment. “Sir,” said she, “I don't think it is; and I would not much mind telling you. Of course I studied you before I came here. Even hunger would not make me sit in a tavern beside a fool, or a snob, or (with a faint blush) a libertine. But to tell one's own story, that is so egotistical, for one thing.
“Oh, it is never egotistical to oblige.”
“Now, that is sophistical. Then, again, I am afraid I could not tell it to you without crying, because you seem rather a manly man, and some of it might revolt you, and you might sympathize right out, and then I should break down.”
“No matter. Do us both good.”