“You are a stranger here, are you not?”
The girl looked at him carefully, and hesitatingly inquired, “Why do you ask? Simply because I did not reply to your questions?”
“No, not that,” came from Carl; then, “Our American girls, or rather I should say, New York girls, resent being addressed by a stranger, even though he should offer aid when needed.”
“Aid was not and is not now required. And to answer your questions, I am a stranger here,” came swiftly.
“So I thought,” said he, flicking the ashes from his cigarette.
“What made you think so?” parried the other, looking at him cautiously from under her heavy lashes.
“Oh, because. Well, you see women of your type and eyes are strange here. I have lived here long enough to learn that.”
“Strange?” she asked, with a forced smile and shrugging shoulders.
“Yes. Beautifully strange.”
“Do you really think so?” She was beginning to feel at ease.