“She doesn’t think anything about herself,” said Jim doggedly. “She isn’t that kind of a girl.”
Ellen Dix bit a vexed exclamation short.
“I don’t believe any of us know her very well,” she said, after a pause. “You know what a gossip Lois Daggett is? Well, I met her and Mrs. Fulsom and Mrs. Whittle coming out of the Daggetts’ house. They’d been talking it over; when they saw me they stopped me to ask if I’d been to see Miss Orr, and when I said no, not yet, but I was going, Lois Daggett said, ‘Well, I do hope she won’t be quite so close-mouthed with you girls. When I asked her, real sympathizing, who she was wearing black for, she said she had lost a dear friend and never even told who it was!’”
Jim Dodge threw back his head and burst into a laugh.
“Served her right,” he said.
“You mean Lois?”
“You didn’t suppose I meant Miss Orr; did you?”
Jim’s voice held a disdainful note which brought the hot color to Ellen’s cheeks.
“I’m not so stupid as you seem to think, Jim Dodge,” she said, with spirit.
“I never thought you were stupid, Ellen,” he returned quickly. “Don’t make a mistake and be so now.”