"Sure, it's liquor; but drink a liddle of it; it vill gif you an appetite."
Mary shook her russet head.
"I don't need no appetite," she said; "I'm half starved as it is."
"You'll need something to grind up these here Hungarian things, though."
"No," said Mary; "I'd rather not."
"But efferybody does here in New York."
"Then I guess I'll wait till I'm a regular New Yorker."
"Don't your fader drink?"
"Sometimes he does," said the girl, conclusively; "an' that's why I don't."
He urged her no further; he even denied himself a glass of the wine that he had ordered, and he succeeded, by this abstinence, in regaining whatever he had lost of her faith in him. He ate heartily himself, and if his manner of eating was not precisely that most common in restaurants of a more careful sort, this was something that the girl would have failed to note even had she not been so busily engaged by wonder at the service and consumption of the novel food. It was not until, contentedly sighing, she had sunk back from the wreck of her second ice, that she remembered again the lateness of the hour.