"For me! Why, Mr. Breen, I'm not a piece of bread--" she laughed.
"I'm just girl." He had begun to interest her--this brown-eyed
young fellow who wore his heart on his sleeve, spoke her dialect
and treated her as if she were a duchess.
"You are life-giving bread to me, Miss MacFarlane," answered Jack
with a smile. "I have only been here six months; I am from the
South, too." And then the boy poured out his heart, telling her,
as he had told Peter, how lonely he got sometimes for some of his
own kind; and how the young girl in the lace hat and feathers, who
had come in with Garry, was his aunt's daughter; and how he
himself was in the Street, signing checks all day--at which she
laughed, saying in reply that nothing would give her greater
pleasure than a big book with plenty of blank checks--she had
never had enough, and her dear father had never had enough,
either. But he omitted all mention of the faro bank and of the
gamblers--such things not being proper for her ears, especially
such little pink shells of ears, nestling and half hidden in her
beautiful hair.
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