“Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. “I always notice that people find it very easy to believe what they want to believe, and you see I’m not in the least popular. It fits your style. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. She felt the need to get dressed, sensing that his parents would be home soon. Her companion was a person of no inferior condition.
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