"No, I don't suppose you could," she murmured, and added, with a swift glance at the other: "They said, 'You go to the devil.'" She held up the offending hand and regarded it intently.

"You wouldn't think it of them, would you?
But they have to say things sometimes--in self-defense.

There are two or three fresh young men along the line that can't seem to take a hint unless you knock them in the head with it." She cast a malevolent look at the clicking instrument.

"He's trying to square himself," she observed carelessly.

"But, unfortunately, I'm out.
He seems on the verge of tears, poor thing." She poked investigatingly among the chocolates, and finally selected a delectable morsel with epicurean care.
"You haven't told me about the polysyllabic young man," she reminded.
"He has held my heart in bondage since he said to Pete Hamilton yesterday in the store--ah--" She leaned and barely reached a slip of paper which was lying upon a row of books.