Still Steve was silent. Nannie was speaking in a language of which he was ignorant.
“I dressed this morning to go to Joe Harding's breakfast, but I hate him, and I went walking instead. Now I've got to see some of the girls who went and make up a lot of stuff about it at home, or Aunt Frances'll be awfully mad.”
Steve looked into the beautiful face of the young girl who was talking in this repellent fashion. Then he took her gently by the hand and said in a firm, kindly tone:
“Nannie, you must come out of all this.”
“How can I?” she asked. “I have no mother or father—no one who really cares. I suppose I'll marry Joe Harding some day. He wants me, and Aunt Frances keeps at me about it eternally, but I hate him.”
“You must not marry him,” said Steve firmly. “He is not a good man.”
“And he's awfully ugly, too, but he's rich, and he's one of the swell set. Ugh! but I do hate him!”
“Why are you going to marry him?”
“Why?” she asked, looking at him with straight, frank surprise. “I've got to. Nobody else wants me.”
The pettish look had passed from her face; so also had the world-wise expression. There was something in her present naïve frankness that prevented it from seeming bold.