You won't mind if I
just tell you frankly, will you, Phil?"
Dean stiffened a bit more. The pats he was bestowing on his knees grew
perfunctory. He felt vaguely that he was being unfairly saddled with
responsibility; he was not even sure he wanted to be told. Though
never surprised at finding Gordon Sterrett in mild difficulty, there
was something in this present misery that repelled him and hardened
him, even though it excited his curiosity.
"Go on."
"It's a girl."
"Hm." Dean resolved that nothing was going to spoil his trip. If
Gordon was going to be depressing, then he'd have to see less of
Gordon.
"Her name is Jewel Hudson," went on the distressed voice from the bed.
"She used to be 'pure,' I guess, up to about a year ago." Lived here
in New York--poor family. Her people are dead now and she lives with
an old aunt. You see it was just about the time I met her that
everybody began to come back from France in droves--and all I did was
to welcome the newly arrived and go on parties with 'em. That's the
way it started, Phil, just from being glad to see everybody and having
them glad to see me."
"You ought to've had more sense."
"I know," Gordon paused, and then continued listlessly. "I'm on my own
now, you know, and Phil, I can't stand being poor. Then came this darn
girl. She sort of fell in love with me for a while and, though I never
intended to get so involved, I'd always seem to run into her
somewhere.
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