"Don't you believe there isn't a man in all San Francisco able to inspire romance." If Alexina could not blush her dark gray eyes could sparkle and melt. "All the men we meet don't belong to that rich group."
"Bunch, darling. Where—will you give us the pointer?—are to be found the romantic knights of San Francisco? 'Frisco as those tiresome Eastern people call it. Makes me sick to think that they are even now pitying 'poor 'Frisco.' Well?—I could beat my brains and not call one to mind."
"Oh!"
"What does that mean, Alex Groome? When you roll up your eyes like that you look like a love-sick tomato."
"Mortimer Dwight was most devoted last night," said Sibyl Thorndyke.
"She danced with him at least eight times."
"You must have sat out alone to know what I was doing," Alexina began hotly, but Aileen sprang at her and gripped her shoulders.
"Don't tell me that you are interested in that cheap skate. Alexina
Groome! You!"
"He's not a cheap skate. I despise your cheap slang."
"He's a rank nobody."
"You mean he isn't rich. Or his family didn't belong. What do you suppose I care? I'm not a snob."