It was a wet night, chill and dreary, and on second thought I made it half-a-crown. The second girl went away—a girl with a thin white face—and I turned to my companion.
“Now,” I said, “what shall we do?” It was nearly eight o’clock and I was wondering where I could go with such a girl to dine. Her clothes, I perceived, were a mere patchwork. Her suit was of blue twill, worn shiny. She wore the cheapest kind of a feather boa and her hat was pathetic. But the color of her cheeks was that wonderful apple color of the English and her eyes—really her eyes were quite a triumph of nature—soft and deep blue, and not very self-protective.
“Poor little storm-blown soul,” I thought as I looked at her. “Your life isn’t much. A vague, conscienceless thing (in the softer sense of that word). You have a chilly future before you.”
She looked as though she might be nineteen.
“Let’s see! Have you had your dinner?” I asked.
“No, sir.”
“Where is there a good restaurant? Not too smart, you know.”
“Well, there’s L.’s Corner House.”
“Oh, yes, where is that? Do you go there yourself, occasionally?”
“Oh, yes, quite often. It’s very nice, I think.”