Good Books

. . good friends, I hope?"
She withdrew her fingers quickly from his hot, moist clasp, and her
bright smile vanished.
"I do not see that at all!" she replied frigidly. "Friendship is very
rare. To be friends, one must have similar tastes and sympathies,--many
things which we have not,--and which we shall never have. I am slow to
call any person my friend."
Mr. Dyceworthy's small pursy mouth drew itself into a tight thin line.
"Except," he said, with a suave sneer, "except when 'any person' happens
to be a rich Englishman with a handsome face and easy manners! . . . then
you are not slow to make friends, Froeken,--on the contrary, you are
remarkably quick!"
The cold haughty stare with which the girl favored him might have frozen
a less conceited man to a pillar of ice.
"What do you mean?" she asks abruptly, and with an air of surprise.
The minister's little ferret-like eyes, drooped under their puny lids,
and he fidgeted on the seat with uncomfortable embarrassment.


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