“You know a lot of things,” was his admiring comment.
Half an hour later he was following the girl into a dingy elevator. He was suffering the pangs of bitter disappointment, for on his observing that if the fellow tried to find out when the division was sailing he would throw him out of the window the girl had turned on him sharply.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” she said. “You’ll tell him what we’ve agreed on, and that’s all.”
“All?” he had protested. “And let him get away with it?”
“We’ll decide what to do later,” she had answered cryptically. And somehow he had felt that he had fallen in her estimation.
In the elevator she said out of a clear sky: “You’ll have to take that raincoat off, of course.”
He swallowed nervously.
“Sure I will,” he replied. “But—look here, you don’t mind if I ask you to stay out while I’m being done, do you? I—I’m funny about pictures. I don’t like any one round. Queer thing,” he went on desperately, seeing her face. “Always been like that. I——”
“I didn’t come here to see you have a photograph taken,” she replied coldly.
For the next half hour he did not see her. He was extremely busy.