I shook my head.
"No; I was down and out long before then."
"Hell of a sight, believe me—jammed full o' little brown men, deader than door nails. They died a fighting, all right, an' they sure gave us a belly full that day. Lost sixteen out o' my company."
Our eyes lingered an instant on each other's faces; then I turned away, and walked to the door. She was waiting motionless, her back to the window, and, when I spoke, followed me in without a word. I led the way to the secluded table behind the screen, seated her, and took the chair opposite. Without questioning her wishes I ordered for both, the girl sitting in silence, her face bent low over the menu card, a red flush on either cheek. Still obsessed with vague suspicion of her character I could not forbear a suggestion.
"What will you have to drink?" I asked, as the waiter turned aside. "I 'd rather like a cocktail to drive the wet out of my system. Shall I make it two?"
She glanced up quickly from under shading lashes, her eyes, big and brown, meeting my own.
"I prefer coffee; that will be quite sufficient."
I ran my hand through my hair.
"Don't you ever drink anything stronger?" I asked, almost tempted to apologize. "You know lots of women do."
"I have never formed the habit."