"A girl who could come to a place like this and make a show figure of
herself in clothes that any fool could see cost--Caesar, what must they
cost!--and change four times a day--and keep us dancing around in
starched collars----"
"You didn't have to----"
"Yes, we did--pardon me! We did, not to be innocently--not
insolently--mistaken for farm hands. I tell you, a girl like that would
keep a man humping to furnish the wherewithal. For what," continued the
Philosopher, growing very earnest--"what, if she'd wear that sort of
clothes here, would she consider necessary for--for--visiting her rich
friends? Tell me that!"
We could not tell him that. We did not try.
The Gay Lady was pinching one of her little flowered dimity ruffles into
plaits with an agitated thumb and finger. I was sure the Skeptic's
present state of mind was of more moment to her than she would ever let
appear to anybody.
The Skeptic rose slowly from his chair.
"Will you walk down the garden path with me?" he asked the Gay Lady.
They sauntered slowly away into the twilight.
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