“Nothing of the sort––never smoked a cigar in her life––I mean, that is, well, something entirely different. But she was a beauty! Golden bronze hair––Titian never painted anything like it; the bluest eyes behind the most wonderful dark lashes, creamy white skin”–––
“And you followed her to a cloak factory, where you found”–––
“Please wait till I finish, Whitney. I followed her nowhere, though she interested me tremendously. I wish you could have seen her eat.”
“Eat?”
“Particularly the grapefruit. By Jove, Barnes, that girl certainly loves grapefruit! It was fascinating. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her.”
“And did she notice you?” quizzed Barnes, raising his eyebrows.
“She was too busy,” came the gloomy rejoinder. “I watched her steadily, fairly bored her with my eyes––tried to will her to look at me. They say you can do that, you know––mental telepathy, projecting thought waves or something of the sort.”
“Oh, rot!” cried Barnes, impatiently. “I tried that on a dog once and I’ve got the scar yet.”
“But I tell you, Whitney, it almost worked. After a time her eyelids began to flutter and the roses in her cheeks bloomed darker. But just as I felt sure she would look up and see me––splash! the grapefruit hit her in the eye!”