“Can we?” she asked. “I wouldn’t think so.”
“But surely yes,” he affirmed; “it is a café.”
He flung the door open as he spoke and stood back to let her pass inside.
“It is a little smoky,” he continued, as the door fell to, “but—”
“A little!” she interrupted.
“But what does that do to you? and there is another lady, so it is very right for you to be here too.”
“She doesn’t look like a lady to me,” said Rosina, dodging under a billiard-cue, for in this particular café the centre of the room is occupied by the billiard-tables; “she looks decidedly otherwise.”
Von Ibn glanced carelessly at the person alluded to.
“It is always a woman,” he remarked; and then he led the way around to a vacant corner where there was somewhat less confusion than elsewhere. “Here you may sit down,” he commanded, and laid aside his own hat and overcoat.
She obeyed him, contemplating her surroundings with interest as she began to unbutton her gloves.