“Dear Miss Tramore—dear Miss Tramore!” the young man murmured helplessly.
“You’ll see for yourself. Only there’s another condition,” Rose went on.
“Another?” he cried, with discouragement and alarm.
“You must understand thoroughly, before you throw in your lot with us even for a few days, what our position really is.”
“Is it very bad?” asked Bertram Jay artlessly.
“No one has anything to do with us, no one speaks to us, no one looks at us.”
“Really?” stared the young man.
“We’ve no social existence, we’re utterly despised.”
“Oh, Miss Tramore!” Captain Jay interposed. He added quickly, vaguely, and with a want of presence of mind of which he as quickly felt ashamed: “Do none of your family—?” The question collapsed; the brilliant girl was looking at him.
“We’re extraordinarily happy,” she threw out.