Her puzzled eyes studied him. "Why wouldn't they want you?"
"I am not—dependable—"
"How old are you?" she asked abruptly.
"Twice your age—"
"Nonsense—"
"Not in years, perhaps—but I have lived—oh, how I have lived—!"
He straightened his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair. She had a sudden vision of what he might be if shorn of his poverty. There was something debonair—finished—an almost youthful grace—a hint of manner—
She sighed. "Oh, the waste of it!"
"Of what?"
She flamed. "Of you!"