"The fence of our compact—perhaps."
He sighed impatiently.
"Ah—well—" She laughed, eying the result of her shaping, the hat frame at one angle, her head at the opposite angle—"there's Helen."
He looked grave reproach at her, altogether absorbed in trying a long plume against the frame in different positions. "Do you think, dear, it's quite respectful to Helen——"
"Your thoughts couldn't harm her," interrupted she—that is, she interrupted him, but not her work. "If men's thoughts smirched women, what an unsightly lot the attractive ones would be!"
"Where did you get such ideas?" he exclaimed, trying to conceal how her frankness had scandalized him.
She worked on calmly. "By observing and reading and thinking—and feeling."
He drummed uneasily upon the arm of his chair with the tips of his fingers. At length he said with some embarrassment, "It's hardly necessary for me to say that I have the highest respect for Helen."
"Yes—and I also know she's very—very pretty."
"Yes, she is pretty."