Pen observed at close range that his years probably numbered a few more than the eighteen she had at first given him. He was a graceful youth and a comely one, but his blue eyes were as hard as china. Both Blanche and the Babe had the look of unnatural high school children. Like actors they carefully cultivated and played up this infantile effect. The hard eyes of the young-old pair afflicted Pen with a kind of despair. How could she hope to win such eyes?
The young man pulled off his cap and bobbed his head in Pen's direction. There was something about her that made him distrust his manners. His disillusioned eyes suggested that he could be masterful enough with his own kind of girl.
"Our friend here says her tale ain't fit for men's ears," said Blanche flippantly.
The young man scowled without looking at Pen. "What does she take us for, a pair of suckers?"
"Oh, I'm not afraid of her," said Blanche. "I know who she is."
"Who is she?" he asked, as if Pen were not present.
"Tell you later when I've heard the whole story."
He hesitated, scowling.
"Toddle along!" said Blanche.
"You're foolish," he muttered.