"And what is that?"
She gazed for a moment at him wide-eyed.
"A home—a refuge," she went on haltingly, "for—for women in trouble. They're the moths—bewildered by the lights of the town—they—they singe their wings and then we try to help them."
"It's great of you, Una."
"And what do you do with your time?" she broke in quickly. "Whom have you met? Is the riddle of existence easier for you in New York than at Horsham Manor?"
"No," he blurted out. "I don't understand it at all. I'm always making the most absurd mistakes. I'm fearfully stupid. Do you ever use rouge, Una?"
The suddenness of the question took her aback, but in a second she was smiling in spite of herself.
"No, I don't, Jerry. But lots of girls do. It's the fashion."
"I know, but do you approve of it?"
"It's very effective if not overdone," she evaded.