"I do look nice," she retorted.
"You don't look anything of the kind."
"What's nice? It's only a word. It doesn't mean much in my young life."
"Where are you going to-night?" he asked, sitting down to the table.
"To the armory—basketball game—and dance afterward."
"With whom?"
"With Harry. I suppose that pleases you, big brother?"
"Yes, it does. I like him. I wish he'd take you out oftener."
"Take me! Hot dog! He'd kill himself to take me all the time. But Harry's slow. He bores me. Then he hasn't got a car."
"Lorna, you may as well know now that I'm going to stop your car rides," said Lane, losing his patience.