“I remember how secretive you were last year. You kept everything to yourself.”
“Well, I know what I want,” the young lady pursued.
He watched her button one of her gloves deftly, using a hairpin released from some mysterious office under her bonnet. There was a moment’s silence, after which they looked up at each other. “I’ve an idea you don’t want me,” said George Flack.
“Oh yes, I do—as a friend.”
“Of all the mean ways of trying to get rid of a man that’s the meanest!” he rang out.
“Where’s the meanness when I suppose you’re not so ridiculous as to wish to be anything more!”
“More to your sister, do you mean—or to yourself?”
“My sister IS myself—I haven’t got any other,” said Delia Dosson.
“Any other sister?”
“Don’t be idiotic. Are you still in the same business?” the girl went on.