You wouldn't be good if you'd spent your life in a convent." A quick flush--the flush of temper--stained the pearly whiteness of Florrie's skin.

"Oh, of course, if you don't want to," she retorted, a little shrilly, though she tried to subdue her rebellious voice to the pitch of Fifth Avenue.

"I only thought that being a working woman, you wouldn't have so very many friends, and you might get lonely.

I had seats at the opera every night last winter, and time and again I'd have been glad to have given them to you.

Then, too, I might have been able to bring you some custom.