her breath.

"Is it?" he asked, controlling a sudden desire to laugh.

"Don't you think so?"

"I have not thought of it that way, recently. . . . I haven't
thought about it at all--for some years. . . . Have you?" he added,
trying to speak gravely.

"Oh, yes. I have thought of it," she admitted.

"And you conclude it to be a rather dreadful business?"

"Yes, it is."

"How?"

"Oh, I don't know. A girl usually loves the wrong man. To be poor
is always bad enough, but to be in love, too, is really very
dreadful. It usually finishes us--you know."

"Are you in love?" he inquired, managing to repress his amusement.

"I could be. I know that much." She went to the sink, turned on the
water, washed her hands, and stood with dripping fingers looking
about for a towel.

"I'll get you one," he said. When he brought it, she laughed and
held out her hands to be dried.