"I—I'm back, sir," he said rather falteringly. "Beg pardon, sir; just thought you'd want to know. I didn't know you—h'm!" And with an odd look and a little cough Jenkins slipped away. But I scarcely noticed him at all.
Poor misguided girl!
My brain was buzzing like a devilish hive of bees, don't you know. By Jove, this was something awful!
And yet—and yet—Her frank, sweet face met mine with a clear light that there was no mistaking. There was no going behind it—she was a thoroughbred, a queen—a lady, dash it! I knew it! And I just settled on that, and was ready to die right then and there if anybody dared to dispute it. I didn't care a jolly hang how she talked; it was just nothing—just the demoralizing swagger of a little boarding-school girl trying to show off like her brothers. And her language? Why, just the devilish, natural result of having a coarse, slangy brute like Billings for a brother. Poor little girl! It was a beastly shame.
She was watching me curiously, smilingly, as she sat there, her devilishly pretty mouth puckered into a cherry as she softly whistled and drummed her shining nails upon the chair arm.
"I'm afraid I've shocked you," she said. "Jack says you're so good."
Dash it, somehow I felt humiliated! She said it in a way that made me feel like a silly ass, you know.
But she wasn't thinking about me any more. Her eye fell on the tabouret, and her little hand stretched toward it.
"May I?" she said with an arch inquiring glance. "Your cigarettes look good to me. I emptied my case an hour ago."
And I proffered them with a show of alacrity. "Pray, pardon me," I said. "I—I never thought of you smoking." A chuckle came through the tiny teeth grasping the cigarette. "Thought I was too goody-goody, eh?"