n't shave?" I protested blankly.

"Myself, you mean? Have to; I haven't got a man to do it for me." She
seemed to sigh. "Not old enough yet to have a man, Jack says."

And just here her attention seemed to center on my cellarette over in
the corner.

"Gee, but it's warm to-night, isn't it?" she remarked absently.

And there was nothing to do but take the hint or leave it; and after
all, she was a guest, you know!

"Perhaps you will permit me to offer you some refreshment," I suggested,
rising. I knew it sounded devilish stiff; and I knew, moreover, that I
looked like a jolly muff, in fact.

"Perhaps I will," she chuckled. "Say, don't urge me too hard, Mr.
Lightnut; you might embarrass me."

I did not want to embarrass her. "I thought perhaps a lemon soda would
refresh you," I explained. "Or, if you will allow me, I will have
Jenkins make you one of his famous seltzer lemonades. Perhaps, though,
you would prefer just a plain--"

I halted in confusion, for she was laughing at me.

"A plain cup of tea," she gurgled, "or a _creme de menthe_!" And then
her laughter burst deliciously. "Say, do you know, honestly, I'm only
just getting on to that dry humor of yours. You've had me fooled. You do
it with such a serious face, you know. Say, it's _great_!"

I tried to smile, but I knew it was a devilish sickly go--the more so,
because just at that moment her slender fingers discarded the remnant of
her last cigarette and reached for a cigar. Another instant, and she had
deftly clipped and lighted it.

I decided I wouldn't ring for Jenkins.

I felt ashamed as I looked in the cellarette, and wondered what the
deuce I should offer her. Couldn't think of anything I had ever heard of
boarding-school girls going in for except ice-cream soda; and, dash it,
I didn't have any ice-cream soda. Nearest thing would be a little
seltzer and ginger ale. That would do.

"Oh, I say, I'm going to make you a highball," I said, trying to assume
a frisky, jocular air.

Her voice lifted in alarm. "Nay, nay, Clarence--not for me!" she urged
hastily.

"But it's only--"

"No fizzy adulterations in mine--not on your life." She followed me
across the room. "Just give me the straight, pure goods--anything, just
so it's whisky."

And before I could say a word--if, indeed, I could have said a word--she
had selected a decanter of Scotch, and with cigar tilted upward in her
tender mouth, was absorbingly pouring a shining stream of the amber