"He's eighteen now--quite a man."
"And most interesting to talk with."
"H'm--very"--drily. Mary was busy with her own thoughts, and she did not
notice the other woman's manner.
"Do you know," she pursued, "I'm a little afraid of one thing."
"So am I."
"Oh, you've noted it, too?--his friendship for that impossible girl,
Zora?"
Miss Smith gave her a searching look.
"What of it?" she demanded.
"She is so far beneath him."
"How so?"
"She is a bold, godless thing; I don't understand her."
"The two are not quite the same."
"Of course not; but she is unnaturally forward."
"Too bright," Miss Smith amplified.
"Yes; she knows quite too much. You surely remember that awful scarlet
dress? Well, all her clothes have arrived, or remained, at a simplicity
and vividness that is--well--immodest."
"Does she think them immodest?"
"What she thinks is a problem."
"_The_ problem, you mean?"
"Well, yes."
They paused a moment. Then Miss Smith said slowly: "What I don't
understand, I don't judge."
"No, but you can't always help seeing and meeting it," laughed Miss
Taylor.
"Certainly not. I don't try; I court the meeting and seeing. It is the
only way."
"Well, perhaps, for us--but not for a boy like Bles, and a girl like
Zora."
"True; men and women must exercise judgment in their intercourse
and"--she glanced sharply at Miss Taylor--"my dear, you yourself must
not forget that Bles Alwyn is a man.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71