"Yet I like him," said Jean.
"So do I. So does everybody. And he's getting rich on the strength of it."
"I'm getting rich on the strength of it, too," Jean laughed. "Next week I shall really be able to put money in the bank."
Better paid, better dressed, with easy work and not infrequent leisure to read, she felt that at last she had begun to live. Her position long retained a flavor of novelty, for the dental company's patrons were infinitely various and furnished endless topics of interest to herself and Paul. They usually went to and from Mrs. St. Aubyn's together, and as the summer excursion season drew on, their Sunday pleasurings began to flourish afresh. Sometimes Amy joined them, but more often she made labored excuses, and they went alone. Jean thought her more secretive and reserved than of old, and Paul, too, remarked a change.
"How did you two get chummy?" he asked abruptly, after one of Amy's declinations. "You're not at all alike."
"Chums are usually different, aren't they?" Jean said, her skin beginning to prickle.
"Not so much as you two. You're a lady and she—well, she isn't. Known her some time?"
"Yes."
"Where did you meet? You were certainly green to the city when you struck our house. Amy's an East Sider Simon-pure."
"It was in the country. Amy stayed in the country once."