‘What a jolly frock!’ he said, when he had shot five celluloid balls in succession off a jet of water.

Smiling, she mechanically took a ball out of the basket and let it roll down the conduit to the fountain.

‘Do you think so?’ she replied, smoothing the fluffy muslin apron with her small hands, black from contact with the guns.  ’That one I wore last night was my second-best.  I only wear this on Saturdays and Mondays.’

He nodded like a connoisseur.  The sixth ball had sprung up to the top of the jet.  He removed it with the certainty of a King’s Prize winner, and she complimented him.

‘Ah!’ he said, ’you should have seen me before I took to smoking and drinking!’

She laughed freely.  She was always showing her fine teeth.  And she had such a frank, jolly countenance, not exactly pretty—­better than pretty.  She was a little short and a little plump, and she wore a necklace round her neck, a ring on her dainty, dirty finger, and a watch-bracelet on her wrist.

‘Why!’ she exclaimed.  ‘How old are you?’

‘How old are you?’ he retorted.

Dogs do not give things away like that.

‘I’m nineteen,’ she said submissively.  ’At least, I shall be come Martinmas.’

And she yawned.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘a little girl like you ought to be in bed.’

‘Sunday to-morrow,’ she observed.

‘Aren’t you glad you’re English?’ he remarked.  ’If you were in Paris you’d have to work Sundays too.’

‘Not me!’ she said.  ‘Who told you that?  Have you been to Paris?’

‘No,’ he admitted cautiously; ’but a friend of mine has, and he told me.  He came back only last week, and he says they keep open Sundays, and all night sometimes.  Sunday is the great day over there.’

‘Well,’ said the girl kindly, ’don’t you believe it.  The police wouldn’t allow it.  I know what the police are.’

More shooters entered the saloon.  Ellis had finished his dozen; he sank into a lounge, and elegantly lighted a cigarette, and watched her serve the other marksmen.  She was decidedly charming, and so jolly—­with him.  He noticed with satisfaction that with the other marksmen she showed a certain high reserve.

They did not stay long, and when they were gone she came across to the lounge and gazed at him provocatively.

‘Dashed if she hasn’t taken a fancy to me!’

The thought ran through him like lightning.

‘Well?’ she said.

‘What do you do with yourself Sundays?’ he asked her.

‘Oh, sleep.’

‘All day?’

‘All morning.’

‘What do you do in the afternoon?’

‘Oh, nothing.’

She laughed gaily.

‘Come out with me, eh?’

‘To-morrow?  Oh, I should LOVE TO!’ she cried.