"I didn't think you'd care, Rosie, honest I didn't. I thought you'd understand."
"Understand what?" There was a certain coldness in the tone of Rosie's inquiry, and Janet, feeling it, seemed ready to wring her hands in despair.
"Why, Rosie, all we talked about was you—honest it was! Jarge said you were just like his own little sister to him, and I told him I loved you more than I would my own sister if I had one."
"Huh!" Rosie grunted, recalling the tilt of Janet's black sailor hat over George's shoulder. It had looked then as if they were talking about her, hadn't it now?
"Honest, Rosie!"
"Yes, of course. I suppose now you were talking about me when you——" Rosie pursed her lips and Janet, understanding her meaning, blushed guiltily.
"Aw, now, Rosie, listen: all I wanted was to have Tom Sullivan see."
"Well, he saw all right. So did I. So did everybody. And it was disgraceful, too!"
Janet groped helplessly about for words. "I don't exactly mean on account of Tom himself."
"Oh!"