“She considered you a wasted life.”
“Where does she get that idea?”
The Bonnie Lassie removed a small, sharp implement from the left eye of a stoical figurine and pointed it at herself.
“Do you think that’s fair?” demanded the indignant youth.
The Bonnie Lassie reversed the implement and pointed it at him. “Do you or do you not,” she challenged, “invade our humble precincts in a five-thousand-dollar automobile?”
“It’s my only extravagance.”
“Do you or do you not maintain a luxurious apartment in Gramercy Park, when you are not down here posing in your attic as an honest working-man?”
“Oh, see here, Mrs. Staten, I won’t stand for that!” he expostulated. “You know perfectly well I keep my room here because it’s the only place I can work in quietly—”
“And because Peter Quick Banta would break his foolish old heart if you left him entirely,” supplemented the sculptress.
Julien flushed and stood looking like an awkward child. “Did you tell all this stuff to Miss Holland?” he asked.