“What must you think of a girl who will permit a stranger to speak to her on the street?”
“I should think that in your case she would be very nice.”
She is laughing and chatting just like a girl out of school, and she has interested him so much that he hasn’t noticed that they were getting into quieter and darker streets, until she suddenly turns into a hallway which is just like a thousand other New York hallways, and announces:
“Here we are at last; now don’t make any noise.”
Up one flight, and she’s fumbling for a key, which she finds in a moment, and then the door is opened.
The lights are turned low, and for some reason or other she doesn’t turn them up, which he notes with a certain feeling of pleasure.
“Now take off your hat and coat, and we will have that bottle of wine I told you about, for I am going to let you stay just one hour, after which I am going to try and forgive myself for having spoken to you.”
It is all very nice and charming, and the wine is very good—a bit better, in fact, than he had any idea it would be.
When the bottle and the glasses are empty he finds himself sitting beside her on a divan. His arm is about her waist and she is struggling to free herself. He leans over to kiss her, but she deftly turns her face away.
“You must not try to kiss me,” she whispers, but as she speaks she throws her arms about his neck.