Joe looked up quickly.
"Offended?" he asked. "You know you couldn't offend me, Helen."
"Oh, I don't know," and her voice was more serious than her manner. "I can't tell how you'll take it. Do you remember the other day saying something about not being able to afford a fur coat?"
"Yes, of course I do. Have you bought yours yet?"
"No, but I've ordered it. But what I want to know is, Joe, why you don't get one, as long as you want it."
"And you thought that question would annoy me? That's queer. I don't get one simply because I can't afford it."
"I haven't yet asked you the question I fear may annoy you," went on Helen. "But this is it, Joe. I know you are getting a good salary, for you told me so. And if you are, what are you doing with it? I—I—this is what I want to ask you, Joe—you're not—not gambling with it—are you?"
She blushed vividly as she made this inquiry.
Joe glanced at the girl curiously. There was a strange look on his face.
"Gambling!" repeated Joe. The men, carrying one of the cleaned glass plates, had moved away.