“Agreed,” he said cheerfully, just a bit too cheerfully to be flattering.
“Very well, then. I’m a runaway.”
“From where?”
“Home.”
“Naturally. Where’s home?”
“Utica, New York,” she specified.
“U.S.A.,” he concluded, with a sigh. “What did you run away from?”
“Trouble.”
“Does any one ever run away from anything else?” he inquired philosophically. “What particular brand?”
“Three men,” she said dolorously. “All after poor little me. They all thought I ought to marry them, and everybody else seemed to think so, too—”