“I want you to do a great deal better than that.”
She had picked up a photograph off the table, a pretty picture of herself in Mandalay, and turned it nervously between her fingers as she said with irritation:
“I haven’t been in the theatrical world not to guess at this ‘Worried Father’ act, Mr. Ruggles. I told you I knew just what you were going to say.”
“Wrong!” he repeated. “The business is old enough perhaps, lots of good jobs are old, but this is a little different.”
He took the turning picture and laid it on the table, and quietly possessed himself of the small cold hands. Blair’s solitaire shone up to him. Ruggles looked into Letty Lane’s eyes. “He is only twenty-two; it ain’t fair, it ain’t fair. He could count the times he has been on a lark, I guess. He hasn’t even been to an eastern college. He is no fool, but he’s darned simple.”
She smiled faintly. The man’s face, near her own, was very simple indeed.
“You have seen so much,” he urged, “so many fellows. You have been such a queen, I dare say you could get any man you wanted.” He repeated. “Most any one.”
“I have never seen any one like Dan.”
“Just so: He ain’t your kind. That is what I am trying to tell you.”
She withdrew her hand from his violently.