At this moment the door opened and Miss Cox entered. She wore a
short-sleeved, low-neck, pink-satin blouse, a white-satin skirt,
open-work stockings, and slippers so high in the heels that her ankles
turned inward. Her hair was treated with henna and piled untidily
on the top of her head. She was exactly what Klein had described--a
self-respecting, self-supporting girl, but, on a superficial
acquaintance, men of Cord's group would have thought quite as badly of
her as Klein did of fashionable women. They would have been mistaken.
Miss Cox supported her mother, and, though only seventeen, denied
herself all forms of enjoyment except dress and an occasional movie.
She was conscientious, hard-working, accurate, and virtuous. She loved
Ben, whom she regarded as wise, beautiful, and generous, but she would
have died rather than have him or anyone know it.

She undulated into the room, dropped one hip lower than the other,
placed her hand upon it and said, with a good deal of enunciation:

"Oh, Mr. Moreton, the Newport boat leaves at five-thirty."

"Thank you very much, Miss Cox," said Ben, gravely, and she went out
again.

[Illustration: "Mr. Moreton, the Newport boat leaves at five-thirty"]

"It would be a terrible thing for Dave to make a marriage like that,"
Klein went on as soon as she had gone, "getting mixed up with those
fellows. And it would be bad for you, Ben--"

"I don't mean to get mixed up with them," said Ben.