“There, let’s be comfortable after all the melodrama. Here you must eat some of these sandwiches. I made them myself.”
She poised herself on the arm of his chair and played with him.
“You can’t understand how a girl feels,” she told him, “under a lot of foolish teasing. They all know I’m fond of you—a little anyway” (that fell cold)—“and they take it out of me because I’m honest and not a flirt.”
Ted chuckled. “Not a flirt.”
“You know what I mean. A girl who has been brought up as I have—can’t let herself go the way other girls of a different class can. I can see that those girls have an advantage. We’re just as—we’re just like they are only they’ve been brought up differently.”
She paused for a moment in her fumbling, in the pleading to be admitted to the class of women of easy virtue whom she fancied held her lover in their toils, trying to convince him that she was ripe for abandonment. But he would not help her. He looked at her rather curiously—that was all.
Sighing she rested her head on his shoulder.
“It’s so nice to have you here.”
“But it’s getting late, Bob. I’ll really have to go.”
She threw a restraining arm across his chest.