As Eleanor stepped out into California 92 Street, gathering her coat about her against a night which had come up windy and raw, Bertram took her side with a proprietary air. She turned toward her appointed escort. It happened that he was walking ahead with Heath just then, holding an argument about the drift of Montgomery Street when it was the water front. For several blocks, then, Bertram had her alone. It seemed to her that he began just where he left off two years or more ago.
“You’re even prettier than you used to be,” he said caressingly; “you’ve bully eyes. I think I told you that before.”
This time, she looked him full in the face and smiled easily.
“Have I? Well I hope you don’t mind my saying that they’re resting on a bonny sight!”
Somewhat taken aback by the directness of this answer, so different from the artificial coyness of the girls he knew best in that period of his life, Bertram turned in his course.
“You’re joshing me,” he said.
“Truly I’m not. You are good to look at—eyes and all.”
Although balked of his opening, Bertram tried again. 93
“Well your mouth is just as good as your eyes.”
The same quick look into his face, and the same smile, as she answered: