"But, Danny," Rosie cried, "think how it would hurt Jarge!"
Danny's answer was unfeeling. "There's worse things can happen to a man than being hurt."
Rosie's manner stiffened perceptibly. "Very well, Mr. Agin, if that's how you feel about it, I guess I better be going."
"Ah, don't go yet," Danny begged.
Rosie, already started, turned back long enough to say, with frigid politeness: "Good-bye, Mr. Agin."
At the gate, her heart misgave her. Danny, after all, had spoken according to his lights. It was not his fault so much as his limitation that he should judge George Riley by the standard of other young men. Rosie would be magnanimous.
"I got to go anyhow, Danny," she called back sweetly.
Danny's chuckle reached her faintly. "But you're coming again, Rosie dear, aren't you? You know I'll be wanting to hear about Saturday."
Danny was old and half sick, so Rosie felt she must be patient. "All right," she sang out; "I'll come."