"I don't hold hands," observed Jacqueline scornfully.
"I do. I've done it when it was all right; and I've done it when I had no business to; and the chances are I'll do it again without getting hurt. And then I'll finally marry the sort of man you call Ed," she added disgustedly.
Jacqueline laughed, and looked intently at her: "You're so pretty, Cynthia—and so silly sometimes."
Cynthia stretched her young figure full length in the chair, yawning and crooking both arms back under her curly brown head. Her eyes, too, were brown, and had in them always a half-veiled languor that few men could encounter undisturbed.
"A week ago," she said, "you told me over the telephone that you would be at the dance. I never laid eyes on you."
"I came home too tired. It was my first day at Silverwood. I overdid it, I suppose."
"Silverwood?"
"Where I go to business in Westchester," she explained patiently.
"Oh, Mr. Desboro's place!" with laughing malice.
"Yes, Mr. Desboro's place."