"I have done a lot for him," she said.
"I know," said Rockwell. "And you'll do this to-night." He was using his most persuasive tones.
Jennie stole an almost timid glance at Merriam.
The latter's youthful chivalry was aroused. He was filled with pity for her, mingled with something like admiration on account of her prettiness. He saw her, more or less correctly, as a pathetic victim of real love and a false social system. He smiled at her reassuringly.
"It'll be all right," he said. "I shan't trouble you at all."
Jennie's glance lingered on his face--the face that was so much like Norman's. She saw him for the clean, innocent, naïve boy that he was. He was what George Norman might once have been, long years ago. I am afraid that something akin to interest crept into her look. She dropped her eyes.
"All right," she said curtly to Rockwell. "I suppose I will."
"Jennie, you're a fool!" cried Margery.
"Shut up, Marge," said Jennie, with whom this seemed to be a frequent locution.
Rockwell had already risen.