“She is. Her father is one of the high muck-a-mucks of the Black Pennant Line—owns oodles of stock. And she is from the coldest stratum of Back Bay society—pos-i-tive-ly.”
“Who is that girl who stares at me so hard
whenever she passes?”, Agnes asked.
“Really, Neale?” demanded Agnes. “The real people? What’s her name?”
“Nalbro Hastings.”
“My goodness me! Not those Hastings?” exclaimed Agnes, but lowering her voice and sitting up to look after the girl in question.
“She is the real goods,” said the slangy Neale, his eyes twinkling in amusement over Agnes’ excitement. “John Y. Hastings is her male par-y-ent.”