“And she never did have a decent thing to wear while my father was living. Then one day she came home with this ring. ‘Baby,’ she said—she always called me her baby—‘there’s not much left and before it’s all gone, I want to be sure you’re fixed. If I put it in the bank I’ll take it out again, so this way we’ll always have something we can hock if we need to.’”
He chuckled. “And did you ever need to?”
“Often.”
Unwittingly, perhaps, his gaze shifted from the diamond to her dress and hat. She needed no intuition to interpret that look. Experience had taught her exactly what it meant. And where defiance had met the girls in the dressing-room, a wave of shame now swept over her.
Gazing at him in his immaculate perfection, her fingers twitched to toss the alley cat out of the window. Yet she could not apologize for it. She couldn’t explain that, being her father’s daughter, she was banking such of her earnings as could be spared against the day when the sapphire sparkle would fade from her eyes.
As the ’busboy shook out the glistening white napkin, placing it across her knees, she felt an absurd inclination to slide under the table.
Mr. Patterson’s attention, however, had turned to the silver dish of frogs’ legs submitted for approval. He regarded them critically, nodded to the waiter, and Sallie’s discomfort vanished in the thrill of a new experience, though she wished he had ordered a nice thick steak.
[267]
] When they were once more gliding down the Drive he leaned over, quickly freeing one hand, and gave hers a squeeze.
“You’re an adorable infant!” he whispered. “Don’t know just what to make of you, but you’ve got me going!”
Sallie looked up a little uncertainly. “My right name’s Sallie MacMahon,” she stammered.