She tossed her brown curls. “I’m not a high-school girl.”
Shayne’s grin spread. “How old are you?”
She said, “Twenty-six,” defiantly.
Shayne arched his ragged red brows. “I don’t believe you, but I’ll make a note of it.”
Lucile said, “I wonder what’s keeping Henri?”
Shayne’s finger tips drummed impatiently on the table. He muttered, “You don’t suppose Henri saw me and was scared off?”
“I shouldn’t think so.” She pushed her chair back and said, “Excuse me. You entertain Henri while I’m gone — if he comes.” Her voice was decidedly thick.
“Where are you going?” Shayne demanded.
She said, with an attempt at severity, “A gen’leman never asks a lady that ques’ion.”
He watched her cross the room and go through the door marked Ladies. He lit a cigarette and puffed on it as he moodily wondered if Lucile could be 26. She looked much younger. She was pretty swell, clear thinking and straight talking. He caught himself wishing he had met her under other circumstances.