The first person who had come anywhere near making love to her was this cadet "Blackie." She had left her mother, without any regret, to live with him. That also had been "something grand"—at first. As near as she could remember, it was about a month before he drove her out on the street to "hustle" for him. Was he good to her, I asked. She shrugged her shoulders. Was he not a man? Then she showed her first enthusiasm. He had a great "pull," he was a friend of the "Old Man on Fourteenth Street." She gave "Blackie" this sincere tribute, the cops never troubled her. But he did have a temper. "It sure is hell, when he’s mad." She rolled up the sleeve of her pajamas and showed me the bruise on her arm. It had been a kick. What for? She had forgotten. Then Benson came in, his arms full of bundles. I don’t suppose he had spent more than fifteen dollars—things are cheap in that neighborhood. But it was an imposing assortment. I could not have bought so complete a trousseau without minute written instructions. Nina forgot her troubles in an instant, they never troubled her long. She pulled the bundles to pieces and scattered the garments everywhere. Guiseppe came in on some errand, but one glimpse of those feminine frivolities, strewn about our formerly sedate bachelor chairs finished him. With a wild Garibaldian oath, he rushed back to his kitchen. It was not in Nina’s nature to allow anything to intervene between her and her immediate desire. The things once seen, had to be tried on. "Come, come," Norman protested. "You’d better do your dressing in the other room." Nina seemed surprised at his scruples, but, gathering up the garments, followed him docilely down the hall. Shrieks of glee came through the open door, beat against my ears—distressingly. I seemed to hear the bones of some ghastly _danse maccabre_, rattling behind her mirth. But as if to drive away my gloom, she soon dashed into the room, fully booted and spurred. She was very pretty. And how she laughed! She seemed a sort of care-free and very young bacchante—the daughter of some goddess of gayety. She jumped on the table and, imitating a music hall artiste, danced a mild mixture of fandango and cancan. And as she danced, she sang—a ribald, barroom song. But the words meant nothing to her, she was just seeking an outlet for her high feelings, expressing her childish joy in her new possessions. Our neighboring church bell began to strike the hour. Nina brought down the foot which was in the air and, in a strained attitude, listened. "Gee!" she said, jumping down to the floor. "It’s ten o’clock." For a moment she stood irresolute, and then her face hardening, she walked up to Norman. "Gim’me two dollars." The sudden demand hit him like a blow. "Won’t you stay to lunch with us?" he asked lamely. "No. I’ve got to go—now! I want two dollars." Such bargaining is unbearable to me, I fled to my room. In a few minutes, Norman came to my door.