“Yes—that is—when we are on full time.”
“Does it make all the girls sick?” he inquired. “There's that girl who came in this afternoon—she seems well and strong.”
“Bessie, you mean? But it's just play for her, you see. She lives with her parents and stops whenever she feels like it. She just wants to buy dresses and go to the theater.”
“But that girl we passed on the street to-day!”
“Helen Davis. Ah, yes—but she's different again. She's bad.”
“Bad?” echoed Samuel perplexed.
There was a brief pause. It was not easy for him to adjust himself to a world in which the good were of necessity frail and ill, and the bad were rosy-cheeked and merry. “How do you mean?” he asked at last.
And Sophie answered quite simply, “She lives with a fellow.”
The blood leaped into Samuel's face. Such a blunder for him to have made.
But then the flush passed, giving place to a feeling of horrified wonder. For Sophie was not in the least embarrassed—she spoke in the most matter-of-fact tone. And this from a child of thirteen, who did not look to be ten.