"Well, wear a pair of mine, then," I began, noting that her hands and mine are about the same size, but before I could suggest this she had interrupted me.
"I didn't come in here for that," she exclaimed, rather haughtily, throwing back her head a little and looking me squarely in the eyes. "I wanted to talk with you a little because you don't seem so oppressively elegant and rich, you know—"
"I am not in the least rich," I assured her comfortingly. "Nearly all my gloves have been cleaned."
I hastily threw up the top of my trunk and scrambled around for my glove box.
"See!" I exclaimed, holding up a pair that she had seen me working on the day before. "They look as good as new, but whew! it would take one of your Texas cyclones to blow the smell of gasolene out!"
"One of my Texas cyclones?" She looked surprised, but I fancied that she was pleased. "Who told you that I live in Texas?"
"Nobody that I remember; yet I got it into my head somehow that you live in Texas."
"I do. I live in El Paso," she threw aside the flounce of chiffon which she was still fingering and started to her feet. I was standing in front of her with the pair of freshly cleaned gloves in my hand. "Ann, I hate lying, and I am going to tell you something, for I can't keep up this deception any longer. I don't care what Aunt Ida says."
There was a quick rap at the door at this most interesting juncture and Evelyn stuck her head in.
"Ann," she said, glancing quickly at us both and seeming a little surprised to see us closeted together in this familiar fashion. "Richard has just had a long-distance message from the city. He has to go up there to-night on business and he wants to know if you'll let him come up to your door and say good-by?"