In Martha's sitting-room were flowers. She could afford them. On the bureau in her bedroom was a large photograph of the Poor Boy, in an eighteen-carat gold frame, very plain and smart.
While Martha was undoing the hooks of her dress Miss Joy stood in front of the bureau and looked at this photograph.
"Poor Boy," she said presently.
"What's that?" said Martha.
"What's become of him, Martha?"
Martha told her.
"It was all so wicked," said the girl.
"Wicked," said Martha, "was no name for it. All his friends to believe he'd do a thing like that! I could skin them alive, the lot of them!"
"I was one of his friends, Martha."
"I make no war on women," said Martha.