I told her that I would wait up-stairs for her, and then the man went away, and she came with me. We climbed the stairs and went along a hall to a parlor that smelled of damp upholstery. She lighted a high central gas-jet that flared without a burner.
She had always been pretty, and she was that now, though her face had lines made by scowling. Her neck and shoulders and breast were almost uncovered, because her waist was so thin and so low-cut. Her little arms were bare from above the elbow, and her little features looked still smaller under a bright irregular turban with a feather like a long sword.
"Luke asked me to find you," I said. "He said he didn't have the money to come himself."
"Poor Luke," said Lena unexpectedly. "He's got the worst of it. But I can't help it."
"You've just come up for a little while, though, haven't you?" I asked her. "And then you're going back?"
She shrugged, and all the bones and cords of her neck and chest stood out. The shadow of her feather kept running over her face, like a knife blade.
"What's the use of your talking like the preacher?" she said. "You got out yourself."
"Yes," I said, "but—"
"You knew before and I didn't know till after," she added. "That's all. I couldn't stand it, either."