PEGGY-IN-THE-RAIN
"No, you're not catty. But I can't tell you her name."
"Can't or won't?"
"Well, won't. I'll tell you why. She is a friend of mine. We went to the same school a few years ago and she was one of the very few girls who were genuine. Her people—" Leona paused a moment—"were poor. She herself works for her living. She is not in our set and she's not your kind of a girl. And—well, in short, Gordon, it's no good."
"My kind of a girl," he repeated questioningly. "Just what is my kind of a girl?"
"You surely understand me," she replied a trifle impatiently. "I mean that she is not a girl you would marry and she's not a girl who would—take you without marriage. Is that frank enough?"
"Quite," he said dryly. "I must either marry the young lady or keep away, then. Is that it?"
"Exactly."
"You haven't much of an opinion of me as a friend, have you?"
"I don't think you'd make a very good friend for a girl who is situated as she is."
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