"What you staring at?" Dalrymple asked, sullenly.
"Is this your desk?" George demanded.
"Yes. Why?"
George faced him abruptly.
"I was looking at that photograph."
"What for?" Dalrymple demanded, sitting up.
"Because," George answered, evenly, "it happens to be where one sees it."
Dalrymple flushed.
"Deuced pretty girl," he said with an affectation of indifference. "Of course you don't know her."
"I have seen her," George said, shortly.