“Look what’s happened––the O’Valley Leather Company has gone under! Won’t Constantine help him out? I always said you were the mascot–––”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why? I always tell you everything.”
Mary smiled. Luke was so boyish and square. She felt that particularly toward Luke must she keep up the delusion of being a commercial nun, content with her part in things.
“It’s such a horrid day. I rode on a car that was as crowded as a cattle shipment. My head aches. The stenographer has left to be married.”
“You mean you are not interested about Steve O’Valley?” Luke was not to be trifled with regarding the affair.
Mary sank down into the nearest chair. “Of course I am. But what right have I to be?” she asked, almost bitterly. “It never pays to be too keenly interested.”
Luke laid the paper aside. “Mary,” he began, his voice very basso profondo, “do you like this man?”
Mary gave a little cry. “Stop––all of you––all of you!” Then she began sobbing quite as helplessly as the Gorgeous Girl could have done.