I can't imagine why Jerry hadn't told her that. She seemed to know about everything else. "Yes, one."
"Jerry!" reproachfully. "And you said I was the first girl you'd ever really known!"
He smiled, though he was quite pink around the ears.
"You are really. Er—she didn't count."
"I shall die of chagrin. Her name, Mr. Canby," she appealed.
I hesitated. But Jerry, still red, blurted out:
"Una Smith. But Roger says that couldn't have been her name."
"But why shouldn't it be her name? She had nothing to be ashamed about, had she?"
"Of course not. She just slipped in through a broken grille. She was a stranger around here—I just happened to meet her and—er—we had a talk."
The boy seemed to be quite ill at ease. What did he already owe this girl Marcia that such an innocent confession made him uncomfortable?