“Our definitions differ. Anyhow, I’m not going to find fault with your friends. I’ve nothing against them except that they are time wasters.”
“Trudy boarded at your wonderful Miss Faithful’s house.”
“In spite of Mary’s common sense, and not because of it.”
“You think a great deal of that girl, don’t you?” she asked, patting his sleeve.
“She deserves a great deal of credit; she has worked since she was thirteen, and she is as true-blue as they come.”
“Do you think she will ever marry and leave you?” she asked, laying the sunshiny head on his arm.
“I never want her to; I’d feel like buying off any prospective bridegroom.”
“That’s not fair.” Her hand stole up to pat his cheek. “She has the right to be happy––as we are, Steve!”
He stared at her in all her lovely uselessness. “You funny little wife,” he whispered––“fighting 122 over losing a postage stamp one minute and buying a new motor car the next; going to luncheon with the washed of Hanover and spending the afternoon with Trudy; making fun of Mary Faithful’s shirt waists and then pleading for her woman’s happiness.... Beatrice, you’ve never had half a chance!”