"It will do no good. You will fail."
We walked slowly toward the house and I tried to make her understand that I was grateful for her interest. She was not pretty, but, as I had discovered, had some beauties of the mind which made her physical attractions a matter of small importance.
As we neared the terrace, a thought came to me and I paused.
"You know who the girl Una is?" I asked.
"Yes," she nodded, "but her name isn't Smith."
"I was aware of that. Would you mind telling me who and what she is?"
She remained thoughtful a moment, fingering the stem of a plant.
"I don't see why I shouldn't. Her name is Habberton, Una Habberton. She was visiting the Laidlaws here last summer. Her family, a mother and a lot of girls, live in the old house down in Washington Square. They're fairly well off, but Una has gone in for social work—spends almost all of her time at it—slumming. I don't know much about her, but I think she must be pretty fine to give up all her social opportunities for that."
I smiled.
"She may have another idea of social opportunity," I said.