"Because he runs about with queer people. No man can do that and not show it in his own manner."
"What people, Steve?"
"Well, with Lady Button-eyes for one. With your modest and bashful little model, for another."
"Does he?" Then she began to laugh. "I'm glad he displays good taste, anyway! The little Cliff girl is charming."
"Isn't that rather a horrid and cynical thing to say?" demanded Stephanie, flushing brightly.
"Why? I think she's quite all right. Let them play together if they like. It's none of my business. Are you, the high-priestess of tolerance, becoming intolerant?" she added laughingly.
"No. I don't care what he does. But I should think he'd prefer to frivol with one of his own class."
"It's a matter of chance," remarked Helen, brushing out her curly brown hair. "The beggar-maid or Vere-de-Vere—it's all the same to a man if the girl is sufficiently attractive and amusing."
"Amusing?" repeated Stephanie. "That is a humiliating rôle—to amuse a man."
"If a girl doesn't, men soon neglect her. Men go where they are amused. Everybody does. You do. I do. Why not?"