“She’s quite a painter,” he said, after a moment, to Menna, who looked up and nodded and said, “Yes, she does quite O. K.”
before), “you and I would make a corking good team. Suppose we pair off together to-night, and we’ll put Miss Fleming on to Bonnat? What do you say?”
“Mr. Menna, you had better stick to your own girl,” I said, feeling uneasy. Menna continued to stare down at me and as he said nothing to that, I added:
“You know you and I are just partners in our work, and don’t let’s fool. It’ll spoil everything.”
“Oh, all right,” said he, “I don’t have to get down on my knees to you or any other girl.”
He had never spoken to me like that before. Until this day, he had never asked me to go anywhere with him, nor tried to see me after work hours, and I did not suppose he was the least bit interested in me, and I supposed he was quite settled with his own sweetheart. I was so glad when Miss Fleming knocked on the door.
That evening we all went to Shefftel Hall. It was one of the oldest places in New York, and was interesting because of the class of people who patronized the place and its resemblance to the German gardens, which it was in fact itself. There were German ornaments and steins all around the place on a high shelf. There was an excellent orchestra which played good selections and Bonnat hummed when they played some of his favorites. Menna and Bonnat seemed to differ on almost every subject, and Menna seemed in a savagely contrary mood that night.
Bonnat would explain his point of view about something, and Menna would say irritably:
“Yes, yes, but what’s the use?”