But at present Aggie was bent upon getting facts.
"HOW did you hurt him?" she persisted.
"I ate lunch," said Zoie with the face of a cherub.
"With whom?" questioned Aggie slyly. She was beginning to scent
the probable origin of the misunderstanding.
"It's of no consequence," answered Zoie carelessly; "I wouldn't
have wiped my feet on the man." By this time she had entirely
forgotten Aggie's proprietorship in the source of her trouble.
"But who WAS the man?" urged Aggie, and in her mind, she had
already condemned him as a low, unprincipled creature.
"What does that matter?" asked Zoie impatiently. "It's ANY man
with Alfred--you know that--ANY man! "
Aggie sank in a chair and looked at her friend in despair. "Why
DO you do these things," she said wearily, "when you know how
Alfred feels about them?"
"You talk as though I did nothing else," answered Zoie with an
aggrieved tone. "It's the first time since I've been married
that I've ever eaten lunch with any man but Alfred. I thought
you'd have a little sympathy with me," she whimpered, "instead of
putting me on the gridiron like everyone else does."
"Everyone else?" questioned Aggie, with recurring suspicion.
"I mean Alfred," explained Zoie. "HE'S 'everyone else' to me."
And then with a sudden abandonment of grief, she threw herself
prostrate at her friend's knees.
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