"Can you imagine that young woman daring to trifle with Eustace Eubanks?" she demanded.
I could, as a matter of fact; but as her query seemed to repel such a disclosure, I lied.
"True," I said, "she would never dare. I didn't think of that."
"With all her frivolity and lightness of manner and fondness for dress, she must have some sense of fitness—"
"She must, indeed!"
"She could not go that far!"
"Certainly not!"
"Even if she does wear too many ribbons and laces and fancy furbelows, with never a common-sense shoe to her foot!"
"Even if she does," I assented warmly.
And thus we were compelled to leave it. In view of those verses I could suggest no plan for relief, and my one poor morsel of encouragement had been stonily rejected.
Eustace went the mad pace. So did Arthur Updyke. It was rather to be expected of Arthur, however. His duties at the City Drug Store seemed to encourage a debonair lightness of conduct. He treated his blond ringlets assiduously from the stock of pomades; he was as fastidious about his finger-nails as we might expect one to be in an environment of manicure implements and nail beautifiers; it was his privilege to make free with the varied assortment of perfumes—a privilege he forewent in no degree;
