In the evening Pennoyer conducted Florinda to the flat of many fire-escapes. After a period of silent tramping through the great golden avenue and the street that was being repaired, she said, "Penny, you are very good to me."  
"Why?" said Pennoyer.
 
"Oh, because you are. You—you are very good to me, Penny."
 
"Well, I guess I'm not myself."
 
"There isn't many fellows like you."
 
"No?"
 
"No. There isn't many fellows like you, Penny. I tell you 'most everything, and you just listen, and don't argue with me and tell me I'm a fool, because you know that it—because you know that it can't be helped, anyhow."
 
"Oh, nonsense, you kid! Almost anybody would be glad to——"
 
"Penny, do you think she is very beautiful?" Florinda's voice had a singular quality of in it.
 
"Well," replied Pennoyer, "I don't know."
 
"Yes, you do, Penny. Go ahead and tell me."
 
"Well——"
 
"Go ahead."
 
"Well, she is rather handsome, you know."
 
"Yes," said Florinda, dejectedly, "I suppose she is." After a time she cleared her throat and remarked indifferently, "I suppose Billie cares a lot for her?"
 
"Oh, I imagine that he does—in a way."
 
"Why, of course he does," insisted Florinda. "What do you mean by 'in a way'? You know very well that Billie thinks his eyes of her."
 
"No, I don't."
 
"Yes, you do. You know you do. You are talking in that way just to me up. You know you are."
 
"No, I'm not."
 
"Penny," said Florinda thankfully, "what makes you ............