“Don’t you think so?”
“I have not thought of it that way, recently.... I haven’t thought about it at all—for some years.... Have you?” he added, trying to speak gravely.
“Oh, yes. I have thought of it,” she admitted.
“And you conclude it to be a rather dreadful business?”
“Yes, it is.”
“How?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A girl usually loves the wrong man. To be poor is always bad enough, but to be in love, too, is really very dreadful. It usually finishes us—you know.”
“Are you in love?” he inquired, managing to repress his amusement.
“I could be. I know that much.” She went to the sink, turned on the water, washed her hands, and stood with dripping fingers looking about for a towel.
“I’ll get you one,” he said. When he brought it, she laughed and held out her hands to be dried.