“I choose not to take a car,” replied the girl, warmly, “and you have no right to accompany me against my wish.”
Dr. Armstrong raised his hat. “I beg your pardon. I did not realize that my presence was not desired,” he said.
Angry at both herself and him, Constance merely bowed, and walked on. “I don’t see why men have to torment me so,” she thought, as she hurried along. “His face was really interesting, and if he only wouldn’t begin like—He never would have behaved so if—if I weren’t—” Miss Durant checked even her thoughts from the word “beautiful,” and allowed the words “well dressed” to explain her magnetism to the other sex. Then, as if to salve her conscience of her own hypocrisy, she added, “It really is an advantage to a girl, if she doesn’t want to be bothered by men, to be born plain.”
The truth of her thought was brought home to her with unexpected suddenness, for as she passed a strip of sidewalk made light by the glare from a saloon brilliant with gas, a man just coming out of its door stared boldly, and then joined her.
“Ahem!” he said.
The girl quickened her pace, but the intruder only lengthened his.
“Cold night, isn’t it, darling?” he remarked, and tried to take her arm.
Constance shrank away from the familiarity with a loathing and fear which, as her persecutor followed, drove her to the curb.
“How dare you?” she burst out, finding he was not to be avoided.
“Now don’t be silly, and—”