a typewriter almost as fast as a man could talk,
that could sew on dainty garments, and that, doubtlessly, could play on
the piano over there in the corner. Another ultra-feminine detail he
noticed--her slippers. They were small and bronze. He had never
imagined she had such a small foot. Street shoes and riding boots were
all that he had ever seen on her feet, and they had given no
advertisement of this. The bronze slippers fascinated him, and to them
his eyes repeatedly turned.

A knock came at the door, which she answered. Daylight could not help
hearing the conversation. She was wanted at the telephone.

"Tell him to call up again in ten minutes," he heard her say, and the
masculine pronoun caused in him a flashing twinge of jealousy. Well,
he decided, whoever it was, Burning Daylight would give him a run for
his money. The marvel to him was that a girl like Dede hadn't been
married long since.

She came back, smiling to him, and resumed her sewing. His eyes
wandered from the efficient hands to the bronze slippers and back
again, and he swore to himself that there were mighty few stenographers
like her in existence. That was because she must have come of pretty
good stock, and had a pretty good raising. Nothing else could explain
these rooms of hers and the clothes she wore and the way she wore them.

"Those ten minutes are flying," he suggested.

"I can't marry you," she said.

"You don't love me?"

She shook her head.

"Do you like me--the littlest bit?"

This time she nodded, at the same time allowing the smile of amusement
to play on her lips. But it was amusement without contempt. The
humorous side of a situation rarely appealed in vain to her.

"Well, that's something to go on," he announced. "You've got to make a
start to get started. I just liked you at first, and look what it's
grown into. You recollect, you said you didn't like my way of life.
Well, I've changed it a heap. I ain't gambling like I used to. I've
gone into what you called the legitimate, making two minutes grow where
one grew before, three hundred thousand folks where only a hundred
thousand grew before. And this time next year there'll be two million
eucalyptus growing on the hills. Say do you like me more than the
littlest bit?"

She raised her eyes from her work and looked at him as she answered:

"I like you a great deal, but--"

He waited a moment for her to complete the sentence, failing which, he
w