He took her hands and looked down on her steadily.  Under the yellow gaslight her face gleamed excitedly up into his, her breath came quickly.

“Well, sir, what do you think of me?” she demanded.  “Have I changed much?”

“Changed?  Why, it’s magic, Maggie!  I left you a schoolgirl; you’re a woman now.  And a wonder!”

“You think so?” She flushed with pride and pleasure, and a wildness of spirit possessed her and demanded expression in action.  She freed her left hand and slipped it over Larry’s shoulder.  “Come on—­let’s two-step.”

“But, Maggie, I’ve forgotten.”

“Come on!”

Instantly she was dragging him over the scanty floor space.  But after a moment he halted, protesting.

“These prison brogans were not intended by their builders for such work.  If you’ve got to dance, you’ll have to work it out of your system alone.”

“All right!”

At once, in the midst of the dingy room, humming the music, she was doing Carmen’s dance—­wild, provocative, alluring.  It was not a remarkable performance in any professionally technical sense; but it had vivid personality; she was light, lithe, graceful, flashing with color and spirits.

“Maggie!” he exclaimed, when she had finished and stood before him glowing and panting.  “Good!  Where did you learn that?”

“In the chorus of a cabaret revue.”

“Is that what you’re doing now, working in a chorus?”

“No.  Barney and father said a chorus was no place for me.”  She drew nearer.  “Oh, Larry, I’ve such a lot to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“Well”—­she cocked her head impishly—­“I’ve been going to school.”

“Going to school!  Where?”

“Lots of places.  Just now I’m going to school at the Ritzmore Hotel.”

“At the Ritzmore Hotel!” He stared at her bewildered.  “What are you learning there?”

“To be a lady.”  She laughed at his increasing bewilderment.  “A real lady, Larry,” she went on excitedly.  “Oh, it’s such a wonderful idea!  Father had never seemed to think much of me till the night I went to a masquerade ball with Mr. Hunt, and he and Barney saw me in these clothes.  They had never seen me really dressed up before; Barney said it was an eye-opener.  They saw how I could be of big use to you all.  But to be that, I’ve got to be a lady—­a real lady, who knows how to behave and wear real clothes.  That’s what they’re doing now:  making me a lady.”

“Making you a lady!” exclaimed Larry.  “How?”

“By putting me where I can watch real ladies, and study them.  Barney cut short my being in a chorus; Barney said a chorus girl never learned to pass for a lady.  So I’ve been working in places where the swellest women come.  First in a milliner shop; then as dresser to a model in the shop of a swell modiste; always watching how the ladies behave.  Now I’m at the Ritzmore, and I carry a tray of cigarettes around the tables at lunch and at tea-time and during dinner and during the after-theater supper.  I’m supposed to be there to sell cigarettes, but I’m really there to watch how the ladies handle their knives and forks and behave toward the men.  Isn’t it all awfully clever?”