There was elemental tragedy in the foul words with which she answered him. But with a sudden change of mood—as unexpected as her appearance, as bewildering as her blasphemy—she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. The look of horror on Norman’s face changed slowly to another expression. It was not wholly incomprehensible. There was something exotic—something tantalizing to over-civilized nerves—in her youthful viciousness. Baudelaire would have found her a "_fleur de mal_." He would have written immortal verses to her. Norman was stern with himself in such matters. He had steeled himself against the usual appeals of vice. It was the novelty of the attack that got through his armor. He pulled her hands apart, pushed her away from him and looked at her, his face drawn and rigid. A south-bound elevated roared past us overhead. With a sharp intake of breath he turned to me. "I’ve half a mind to take her home." "It would be a great treat for her," I said, "compared to how she’ll spend the night if you don’t. I suppose it’s you or a drunken sailor." "Will you come home with me?" he asked with sudden resolution. "Sure. You don’t look like a cheap-skate." So we started on along the Bowery, arm-in-arm. At first we were all silent. But intent on the business of amusing her clients, she suddenly jerked her feet off the ground, and hanging to our elbows, swung her soiled little red slippers in the air before us. "Gee!" she said, when we had recovered our balance, "You’re solemn guys." "You’re in line with the best traditions of philosophy, kid," Norman admitted. "There’s no virtue in sinning sadly. We might as well laugh." The rest of our progress home was a noisy scramble. A hideous nightmare to me—out of the vague impressions of which, I remember most clearly the complaisant grin of the policeman on the beat; who twirled his stick as we passed. Guiseppe was dumb-founded at the addition to our number. Norman told him curtly to set a third cover for our supper. Once seated at the table Nina—that we discovered was her name—did not let anything interfere with the business in hand. Norman ate little. I had no appetite. So she did duty for all of us. Norman made a few remarks about the ball, but always he was watching her. I was unresponsive and conversation died. When Nina had made way with the last edible thing, the flood gates opened and she began to talk and play. She had an immense animal vivacity, which kept not only her tongue, but her whole body in action. She was full of a spirit of fun entirely foreign to both of us. We were rather serious minded, sombre men. Her love of horseplay was a novelty.