"Of course, you'll tell your sister how we met," she suggested; "she'll be so anxious to know me when she hears all about it."
"Do you suppose," he said coolly, "that I don't know one of my own sort whenever or however I happen to meet her?"
"Men cannot always tell; I grant you women seldom fail in placing one another at first glance; but men rarely possess that instinct.... Besides, I tell you I am employed."
"What of it? Even if you wore the exceedingly ornamental uniform of a parlor-maid it could not worry me."
"Do you think your sister would hasten to call on a saleswoman at Blumenshine's?" she asked carelessly.
"Nobody wants her to," he retorted, amused.
"Or on a parlor-maid—for example?"
"Let her see you first; you can't shock her after that.... Are you?" he inquired gently—so gently, so pleasantly, that she gave him a swift look that set his heart galloping.
"Do you really desire to know me?" she asked. But before he could answer she sprang up, saying: "Good gracious! This is Twenty-eighth Street! It seems impossible!"