"You're a perfect thirty-six, ain't you, little one?"
"That's what they say when I try on ready-mades," she replied, with sweet reticence.
"Gee!" he said. "Wouldn't I like you in some of my models! Maybe if you ain't no snitch I'll show you the colored plates some day."
"I ain't no snitch," she said. Her voice was like a far-away echo.
They climbed the wooden steps to their hotel like glorified children who had been caught in a silver weft of enchantment.
The lobby was semi-dark; they asked for their keys in whispers and exchanged good-nights in long-drawn undertones.
"Until to-morrow, little one."
"Until to-morrow."
She entered the elevator with a smile on her lips and in her eyes. They regarded each other through the iron framework until she shot from sight.
* * * *