"I can't see anything to make a mystery about," declared the girl. "Why,
you act as if there were something to be ashamed of in coming to see
me."

He was observing her sharply. How could a girl live in the New York
atmosphere several years without getting a sensible point of view? Yet,
so far as he could judge, this girl was perfectly honest in her
ignorance. "Don't be foolish," said he. "Please accept the fact as I
give it to you. You mustn't let people see everything."

She made no attempt to conceal her dislike for this. "I won't be mixed
up in anything like that," said she, quite gently and without a
suggestion of pique or anger. "It makes me feel low--and it's horribly
common. Either we are going to be friends or we aren't. And if we are,
why, we're friends whenever we meet. I'm not ashamed of you. And if you
are ashamed of me, you can cut me out altogether."

His color deepened until his face was crimson. His eyes avoided hers. "I
was thinking chiefly of you," he said--and he honestly thought he was
speaking the whole truth.

"Then please don't do so any more," said she, turning to go. "I
understand about New York snobbishness. I want nothing to do with it."

He disregarded the danger of the door being opened at any moment. He
rushed to her and took her reluctant hand. "You mustn't blame me for the
ways of the world. I can't change them. Do be sensible, dearest. You're
only going to be here a few days longer. I've got that plan for you and
your father all thought out. I'll put it through at once. I don't want
the office talking scandal about us--do you?"