"All right," he said. She was watching his face. "This is new to him," she was thinking.
"You believe I don't want money!"
"Yes—"
"Nor friends like Amy's!"
"You don't seem to."
"And I don't. I want friends like you and this Mr. Dwight—and that odious Sally Crothers who won't even let me in at her door. And her husband—yes, he'll do. Why how the circle widens!"
"So far," Nourse reminded her, "I'm the only circle you've got."
"Yes, and a very nice one. And now you're going to be a dear, and go to this man Dwight and say what a remarkable voice I have—and tell him all my other points, and the hole I'm in and the money I have. Don't forget that—the money I have—for my acquaintance with Mr. Dwight leads me to believe that wealth is a great inducement with him. It makes his blue eyes twinkle so."
"Very well," Nourse answered grimly. "But when you get them twinkling, what are you going to do with him?"
"Sing with him," was her firm reply. "And between songs talk with him—of Paris and my husband, and the great ideals I have—and the delicious dinners I have—for he's fat, you know, and he loves his meals—and then ask him to come to dinner, of course." She scowled. "That," she said severely, "is all I can tell you at present. My plans for resurrecting Joe will have to be made as I go along—step by step and friend by friend." All at once she turned on him fiercely. "There's that pity again in your eyes! 'Oh, how young,' you are thinking. Then let me tell you, Mr. Bill Nourse, that you are not to pity me! If you do," she cried, "the time will come when you will be pitying yourself—for being cast off like an old leather shoe—from one of the most brilliant and attractive circles in this town! Do you know what you almost do to me—you, the one friend I have in New York? You make me feel you've almost lost your faith and hope in everything—that you're nearly old! You make me wonder if I'm too late—whether my husband is nearly old, and the dreams he had in him cold and gone! You scare me—and you've got to stop! You've got to be just exactly as young as I am—this very minute! You've got to borrow some youth from me—for I have plenty to go around—and help me make this fight for friends! It may not come to anything—for the soul of this city is hard as nails! This music man may turn me down—or be perfectly fat and useless! Who knows? But how can I tell till I meet the man? And when will you go and see him? Today or tomorrow? I haven't very much time, you know, for any more shilly-shallying! I want some action out of you—"