"Why didn't you pick Elaine?"
"I wanted to but she wouldn't be picked—by me."
"I can't remember that you fussed her especially."
"I can't remember it myself; but I reckon I read my doom beforehand, and didn't go up against it. Elaine is a winner for looks, Pendleton. She was the loveliest thing last night I most ever saw—in a shimmering silver gown and—there was only one woman who was her equal in looks: Stephanie Lorraine. She's unbeatable—simply unbeatable!"
"I'm sorry I wasn't there!" laughed Pendleton.
"You should have been there. That bounder Porshinger was playing the devoted to her—had her in the conservatory for a half an hour." He glanced slyly at the other. "So long, indeed, as to occasion comment. I overheard some of the dowager tabby-cats mewing over it." He paused a moment, then asked seriously: "Pendleton, why don't you warn her of Porshinger's attentions? You can do it. He is up to no good, you may be sure—at least, no one will ever credit him with any good where Stephanie is concerned. You understand, old chap."
"Do you mean that people will suspect her?" Pendleton demanded.
"You and I and her other friends and the right-minded people won't, but there are a lot who will. It well be a fresh bit for them to roll over their tongues and to infer and imply the scandalous. The question is whether she can afford to have them do it—now."
"She is simply courteous and nice to him," Pendleton replied.
"I know she is. Yet why not be simply courteous, and let it go at that; what is the good of being nice to him?"