"It's individual—it's me," she repeated, running her little hands caressingly down the slim undulation of the waist, caught in by the trim green belt.
The telephone rang a second time.
"Joe Gilday," said Winona presently, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.
"Say I'm in," said Doré hastily, in a half whisper. "Now go back and say I'm out!"
"What's wrong?" said Winona, opening her eyes.
"Needs disciplining."
"He knows you're here—says he must speak to you," said the emissary, reappearing.
"Tell him I am, and won't," said Doré mercilessly.
Snyder, with a sudden recognition of the clock, rose, and going to a trunk, pounced on a sailor hat, slapping it on her head without looking in the mirror. She came and planted herself before Doré, who had watched her, laughing.
"Beating it up to Blainey's," she said. The voice was low, but with a slur that accused ordinary antecedents. "Say, he's dipped on you; got a fat part salted away—if you ever turn up! Why don't you see him?"