"
"That's just your trouble." Her eyes took on a cold gleam as she
scanned the perfection and finish of the man before her.
"Fitzhugh, do you wear ready-made clothing?"
"Of course not," he answered, in surprise at this turn.
"Your suits are all made to order?"
"Yes, Miss Polly."
"And your shirts?"
"Yes, and shoes, and various other things." He smiled.
"Why do you have them specially made?"
"Beeause they suit me better, and I can afford it."
"It's really because you want them individualized for you, isn't
it?"
"Yes; I suppose so."
"Then why do you always get your mental clothes ready-made?"
"I don't think I understand, Miss Polly," he said gently.
"It seems to me that all your ideas and estimates and standards
are of stock pattern," she explained relentlessly. "Inside, you're
as just exactly so as a pair of wooden shoes. Can't you see that
you can't judge all men on the same plane?"
"I see that you're angry with me, and I see that I'm being
punished for what I said about--about Mr. Perkins. If I'd known
that you took any interest in him, I'd have bitten my tongue in
two before speaking as I did.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109