"Even if you don't like me"—the Tyro writhed some more—"and don't consider me fit to speak to"—the Tyro's contortions were fairly Laocoönish—"would you—couldn't you lend me five dollars?"
The Tyro blinked rapidly.
"I need it awfully," pursued the malicious maiden.
Desperation marked itself on his brow. He scrambled from his chair, plunged his hand into his pocket, extracted a bill, transferred it to her waiting fingers, and hustled for the nearest doorway. He didn't reach it. The august undulations of Mrs. Charlton Denyse's form intercepted him.
"This is shameless!" she declared.
For once the abused youth was almost ready to agree with her.
"Don't quibble with me, sir. I saw, if I did not hear. You passed Miss Wayne a note. I am astonished!" she said, in the tone of a scandalized Sunday-School teacher.