But presently a desire came over him to see this girl, and it came because they had hinted such dark things about her.  That was like him also.

There was probably no harm in Dolly, though it is man’s proud right to question it in exchange for his bitters.  She was tall and willowy, and stretched her neck like a swan, and returned you your change with disdainful languor; to call such a haughty beauty Dolly was one of the minor triumphs for man, and Dolly they all called her, except the only one who could have given an artistic justification for it.

This one was a bearded stranger who, when he knew that Pym and his friends were elsewhere, would enter the bar with a cigar in his mouth, and ask for a whisky-and-water, which was heroism again, for smoking was ever detestable to him, and whisky more offensive than quinine.  But these things are expected of you, and by asking for the whisky you get into talk with Dolly; that is to say, you tell her several times what you want, and when she has served every other body you get it.  The commercial must be served first; in the barroom he blocks the way like royalty in the street.  There is a crown for us all somewhere.

Dolly seldom heard the bearded one’s “good-evening”; she could not possibly have heard the “dear,” for though it was there, it remained behind his teeth.  She knew him only as the stiff man who got separated from his glass without complaining, and at first she put this down to forgetfulness, and did nothing, so that he could go away without drinking; but by and by, wherever he left his tumbler, cunningly concealed behind a water-bottle, or temptingly in front of a commercial, she restored it to him, and there was a twinkle in her eye.

“You little rogue, so you see through me!” Surely it was an easy thing to say; but what he did say was “Thank you.”  Then to himself he said, “Ass, ass, ass!”

Sitting on the padded seat that ran the length of the room, and surreptitiously breaking his cigar against the cushions to help it on its way to an end, he brought his intellect to bear on Dolly at a distance, and soon had a better knowledge of her than could be claimed by those who had Dollied her for years.  He also wove romances about her, some of them of too lively a character, and others so noble and sad and beautiful that the tears came to his eyes, and Dolly thought he had been drinking.  He could not have said whether he would prefer her to be good or bad.

These were but his leisure moments, for during the long working hours he was still at the exercises, toiling fondly, and right willing to tear himself asunder to get at the trick of writing.  So he passed from exercises to the grand experiment.

It was to be a tale, for there, they had taken for granted, lay the treasure.  Pym was most considerate at this time, and mentioned woman with an apology.

“I have kept away from them in the exercises,” he said in effect, “because it would have been useless (as well as cruel) to force you to labour on a subject so uncongenial to you; and for the same reason I have decided that it is to be a tale of adventure, in which the heroine need be little more than a beautiful sack of coals which your cavalier carries about with him on his left shoulder.  I am afraid we must have her to that extent, Thomas, but I am not asking much of you; dump her down as often as you like.”