“Not many women—­” digressed the man, glancing apprehensively towards the door, but she cut him short swiftly with the ejaculation: 

“Bosh!” And picking up a plate she raised it high in the air the better to show off its contents.  “Charlotte rusks an’ lemming turnover!” she announced, searching his face for some sign of joy, her own face lighting up perceptibly.

“Well, this is a treat!” cried out Johnson between sips of coffee.

“Have one?”

“You bet!” he returned with unmistakable pleasure in his voice.

The Girl served him with one of each, and when he thanked her she beamed with happiness.

“Let me send you some little souvenir of to-night”—­he said, a little while later, his admiring eyes settled on her hair of burnished gold which glistened when the light fell upon it—­“something that you’d just love to read in your course of teaching at the Academy.”  He paused to search his mind for something suitable to suggest to her; at length he questioned:  “Now, what have you been reading lately?”

The Girl’s face broke into smiles as she answered: 

“Oh, it’s an awful funny book about a kepple.  He was a classic an’ his name was Dent.”

Johnson knitted his brows and thought a moment.  “He was a classic, you say, and his name was—­Oh, yes, I know—­Dante,” he declared, with difficulty controlling the laughter that well-nigh convulsed him.  “And you found Dante funny, did you?”

“Funny?  I roared!” acknowledged the Girl with a frankness that was so genuine that Johnson could not help but admire her all the more.  “You see, he loved a lady—­” resumed the Girl, toying idly with her spoon.

“—­Beatrice,” supplemented Johnson, pronouncing the name with the Italian accent which, by the way, was not lost on the Girl.

“How?” she asked quickly, with eyes wide open.

Johnson ignored the question.  Anxious to hear her interpretation of the story, he requested her to continue.

“He loved a lady—­” began the Girl, and broke off short.  And going over to the book-shelf she took down a volume and began to finger the leaves absently.  Presently she came back, and fixing her eyes upon him, she went on:  “It made me think of it, what you said down to the saloon to-night about livin’ so you didn’t care what come after.  Well, he made up his min’, this Dent—­Dantes—­that one hour o’ happiness with her was worth the whole da—­” She checked the word on her tongue, and concluded:  “outfit that come after.  He was willin’ to sell out his chances for sixty minutes with ‘er.  Well, I jest put the book down an’ hollered.”  And once more she broke into a hearty laugh.

“Of course you did,” agreed Johnson, joining in the laugh.  “All the same,” he presently added, “you knew he was right.”

“I didn’t!” she contradicted with spirit, and slowly went back to the book-shelf with the book.

“You did.”