"You see, my tear," he pointed out feverishly, "the young man is honest—he tells the truth. That is the end."
"Is it!" the girl muttered. "Perhaps! Anyway, he is going to take me out this evening. Your wife ain't here with you, is she?"
"No," he replied, "she is in America."
"Go and get yourself ready, then."
Harvey Grimm meekly acquiesced, and devoted himself for the rest of the evening towards the entertainment of his companion. The girl's manner was a little queer. At the restaurant to which he took her—the best in the neighbourhood—she appeared to thoroughly enjoy the lavish meal which he provided. She even held his hand under the table and smiled many times into his eyes. She took his arm as they walked through the streets, but in the theatre, which she chose in preference to a cinema, she sat most of the time silent and absorbed. On the way home she clung to his arm. When they reached the little jeweller's shop, she paused.
"Let me take you across to your rooms first," he suggested.
She shook her head.
"I want to find my handkerchief," she told him. "I must have left it in the parlour. Open the door, please."
He obeyed her, and they stumbled through the darkened shop, down the steps, into the close, stuffy little apartment. The remains of the fire were smouldering upon the hearth, but the room was unlit. Abraham Letchowiski and the boy had long since gone to bed. Suddenly she threw her arms around him.
"Kiss me!" she cried, in a choked tone.