She struggled up out of his arms. "Friend! Of course not. He is a great friend of Christina's but not of mine. He is so old and funny-looking. He has gray hair and he is quite dark—when I say dark, I mean he is not a negro, but—well, dark."
"I understand. Not a friend of yours?"
"Of course not. There are times when I can't stand him! He doesn't read or write, did you know that? Of course you do—and he has been in prison, you told me that, too. If mother knew she would have a fit. Why do you talk about him, Ronnie?"
"I've no special reason, only—"
"Only what, has he been talking about me?"
"Not to me, of course—he told a friend of mine that he didn't like you to know me. It was a surprise to me that he was aware we were friends. Did you tell him?"
"Me—I? Of course not. I never heard of such nerve! How dare he!"
"S-sh—don't get angry, darling. I'm sure he meant well. You have to do something for me, Evie dear."
"Talking about me—!"
"What is the use?" He bent his head and kissed her. "It will be easy for you to say that you've only met me once or twice—and that you are not seeing me any more."