"Jacqueline, dear, it's only for your sake——"
"But I did understand your letter!"
"I know—I know. I just want to see you with other people. I just want to have them see you——"
"But I don't need a chaperon. Business women are understood, aren't they? Even women whom you know go in for house decoration, and cigarette manufacturing, and tea rooms, and hats and gowns."
"But they were socially known before they went in for these things. It's the way of the world, Jacqueline—nothing but suspicion when intelligence and beauty step forward from the ranks. And what do you suppose would happen if a man of my sort attempts to vouch for any woman?"
"Then don't—please don't try! I don't care for it—truly I don't. It was nice of you to wish it, Mr. Desboro, but—I'd rather be just what I am and—your friend."
"It can't be," he said, under his breath. But she heard him, looked up dismayed, and remained mute, crimsoning to the temples.
"This oughtn't to go on," he said, doggedly.
She said: "You have not understood me. I am different from you. You are not to blame for thinking that we are alike at heart; but, nevertheless, it is a mistake. I can be what I will—not what I once seemed to be—for a moment—with you—" Her head sank lower and remained bowed; and he saw her slender hands tightening on the arm of the chair.
"I—I've got to be honest," she said under her breath. "I've got to be—in every way. I know it perfectly well, Mr. Desboro. Men seem to be different—I don't know why. But they seem to be, usually. And all I want is to remain friends with you—and to remember that we are friends when I am at work somewhere. I just want to be what I am, a business woman with sufficient character and intelligence to be your friend quietly—not even for one evening in competition with women belonging to a different life—women with wit and beauty and charm and savoir faire——"