There was silence for some moments, while Daniel, smoking his cigar, endeavoured to ignore her existence. Once or twice she looked expectantly at him: it was evident that she could not quite classify him. Then she rose to her feet, and, with a little friendly nod to him, walked towards the swinging doors.
Daniel suddenly felt lonely, felt that he would like to have somebody to talk to, felt that he could keep any situation within bounds, felt that he did not much mind whether he could do so or not. He took the cigar out of his mouth, forming an instant resolution: “Hi!” he called out.
She turned round. “Why you call me ‘Hi’?” she asked. “I’m Lizette.”
“I beg your pardon,” he answered, gravely. “Will you have supper with me, Lizette?”
“Have you got enough money?” she asked.
“Plenty,” he laughed. “Shall we have supper here?”
She shook her head, “Oh, no,” she replied frankly. “The Manager not like me, because I’m not good girl. Everybody know Lizette—very bad, very wicked girl. Everybody are shocked for Lizette.”
“I’m not shocked,” said Daniel. “I like your face. You look truthful.”
He got up, and followed her into the bar, and, crossing it, made for the street-entrance.
“You give me supper at Berto’s?” she said, putting her hand lightly upon his arm, and looking up at him, as they stood upon the pavement outside.