“Have another beer?” suggested Cork.  In his circle the phrase was considered to be a card, accompanied by a letter of introduction and references.

“No, thanks,” said the girl, raising her eyebrows and choosing her conventional words carefully.  “I—­merely dropped in for—­a slight refreshment.”  The cigarette between her fingers seemed to require explanation.  “My aunt is a Russian lady,” she concluded, “and we often have a post perannual cigarette after dinner at home.”

“Cheese it!” said Cork, whom society airs oppressed.  “Your fingers are as yellow as mine.”

“Say,” said the girl, blazing upon him with low-voiced indignation, “what do you think I am?  Say, who do you think you are talking to?  What?”

She was pretty to look at.  Her eyes were big, brown, intrepid and bright.  Under her flat sailor hat, planted jauntily on one side, her crinkly, tawny hair parted and was drawn back, low and massy, in a thick, pendant knot behind.  The roundness of girlhood still lingered in her chin and neck, but her cheeks and fingers were thinning slightly.  She looked upon the world with defiance, suspicion, and sullen wonder.  Her smart, short tan coat was soiled and expensive.  Two inches below her black dress dropped the lowest flounce of a heliotrope silk underskirt.

“Beg your pardon,” said Cork, looking at her admiringly.  “I didn’t mean anything.  Sure, it’s no harm to smoke, Maudy.”

“Rooney’s,” said the girl, softened at once by his amends, “is the only place I know where a lady can smoke.  Maybe it ain’t a nice habit, but aunty lets us at home.  And my name ain’t Maudy, if you please; it’s Ruby Delamere.”

“That’s a swell handle,” said Cork approvingly.  “Mine’s McManus—­Cor—­er—­Eddie McManus.”

“Oh, you can’t help that,” laughed Ruby.  “Don’t apologize.”

Cork looked seriously at the big clock on Rooney’s wall.  The girl’s ubiquitous eyes took in the movement.

“I know it’s late,” she said, reaching for her bag; “but you know how you want a smoke when you want one.  Ain’t Rooney’s all right?  I never saw anything wrong here.  This is twice I’ve been in.  I work in a bookbindery on Third Avenue.  A lot of us girls have been working overtime three nights a week.  They won’t let you smoke there, of course.  I just dropped in here on my way home for a puff.  Ain’t it all right in here?  If it ain’t, I won’t come any more.”

“It’s a little bit late for you to be out alone anywhere,” said Cork.  “I’m not wise to this particular joint; but anyhow you don’t want to have your picture taken in it for a present to your Sunday School teacher.  Have one more beer, and then say I take you home.”

“But I don’t know you,” said the girl, with fine scrupulosity.  “I don’t accept the company of gentlemen I ain’t acquainted with.  My aunt never would allow that.”