But Polly was shaking her head from side to side. “Oh, of course, you mean the reuben at the head of the table you were joshing. It was the hit of the evening.” “Was it, though?” said Polly vaguely. “The hit of the evening, kid. That’s what brought them across.” “Well,” said Polly, “it was a raw deal for him, I suppose. Look here.” She held up her wrist. It showed a blue line about it. “I never felt a man’s hand like that in all my life. He could have broken my arm if he’d wanted to.” She pushed a bracelet reflectively up and down across the bruised ring which the clutch of Joslin’s fingers had left upon her white skin. “Oh, I guess he liked it all right,” commented Nina casually. “They mostly do.” “That’s the trouble,” rejoined Polly sagely. “I can’t tell how it was, but somehow that man made me feel _ashamed_! There was something in his face—I can’t tell you what. Ever since, I’ve been feeling as if this money didn’t belong to us. I’ve a notion to give you my share, Nina.” “You can’t, kid. I’ve always been on the level with you. I’ll take you over my knee and give you a spanking now if you don’t shut up. You talk silly. An ordinary hayseed from the hills—you better be thinking of Rankin with his private yachts, or little old Jimmy, your solid. You can’t complain. You’d better be content with what you got.” “What do you mean, Nina? I only say I feel sort of ashamed. I never felt my skirts were short before in all my life. I did then.” Nina only turned with a short laugh as she stooped to unfasten her own shoes in her progress towards her night toilet. Polly arose and went to the panel where protruded the handle of the wall bed which these two loyal and thrifty partners occupied in common. She pulled down the bed, went to the little wardrobe for her own night robe, and, moodily silent, prepared herself for sleep. At last she paused. “Nina,” she said again, with a certain imperative quality in her tone. “What is it, kid?” demanded her good-humored friend. “You know what I think?” “No, I don’t. I don’t think you think at all.” “Well, I’ll tell you. Sometimes I think I’ve had about enough of this sort of thing. I’m sore on it. It makes me sick. All those men——” “But if it was the ‘only, only, _only_ man’?” grinned Nina. “I wonder,” began Polly to herself—“I wonder now——” But what she wondered she did not vouchsafe. It was some time later, in the darkness of the night, that Nina felt a hand upon her arm, shaking her. “What’s the idea, kid?” she said sleepily. “Can’t you let a fellow sleep? I’m almost dead.” “Nina, tell me!” demanded Polly, a strange earnestness in her voice. “Am I bad? Nina—tell me—am I as bad as that?” “Oh, shut up, kid,” said Nina, bored. “Go on to sleep. There’s bats in your garret to-night, sure thing.” CHAPTER X MR. HADDON’S POINT OF VIEW