“I read what the Advocate said about you today,” she told him one night, a tide of color in her cheeks. “It was horrid. As if anybody would believe it.”
“I'm afraid a good many people do,” he said gravely.
“Nobody who knows you,” she protested stoutly.
“Yes, some who know me.”
He let his eyes dwell on her. It was easy to see how undisciplined of life she was, save where its material aspects had come into impact with her on the economic side.
“None of your real friends.”
“How many real friends has a man—friends who will stand by him no matter how unpopular he is?”
“I don't know. I should think you'd have lots of them.”
He shook his head, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Not many. They keep their chocolate and sandwiches for folks whose trolley do'esn't fly the wire.”
“What wire?” she asked, her forehead knitted to a question.