"What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. ” “Isn’t that a little extreme?” “I am an extreme person at times. It was—in connection with this man Hill. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. ” She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsive movement. You don’t want to miss the sport. He had a wild impulse to shout. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear.
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