"That's all right," she declared confidently. "He'll be reasonable by morning. You go and wash and get ready." Harvey Grimm sighed mournfully. His wits were serving him at last, presenting a tardy possibility of escape. "Miss Rosa," he said, "I haven't had the chance to say anything. You took me by surprise this afternoon. Perhaps I ought to have told you when we first met, but I didn't. I am married." She stood looking at him for a moment, her voluptuous red lips parted, her eyebrows contracting. "Married?" she exclaimed, a little hysterically. "You beast!" "I can't help it," he apologised humbly. "I ought to have told you but I never thought. That is why I kept away before." "I see," she murmured, with the air of one whose thoughts are far away. Abraham Letchowiski sat up in his chair. He mopped his eyes with a yellow handkerchief. "You see, my tear," he pointed out feverishly, "the young man is honest--he tells the truth. That is the end." "Is it!" the girl muttered. "Perhaps! Anyway, he is going to take me out this evening. Your wife ain't here with you, is she?" "No," he replied, "she is in America." "Go and get yourself ready, then." Harvey Grimm meekly acquiesced, and devoted himself for the rest of the evening towards the entertainment of his companion. The girl's manner was a little queer. At the restaurant to which he took her--the best in the neighbourhood--she appeared to thoroughly enjoy the lavish meal which he provided. She even held his hand under the table and smiled many times into his eyes. She took his arm as they walked through the streets, but in the theatre, which she chose in preference to a cinema, she sat most of the time silent and absorbed. On the way home she clung to his arm. When they reached the little jeweller's shop, she paused. "Let me take you across to your rooms first," he suggested. She shook her head. "I want to find my handkerchief," she told him. "I must have left it in the parlour. Open the door, please." He obeyed her, and they stumbled through the darkened shop, down the steps, into the close, stuffy little apartment. The remains of the fire were smouldering upon the hearth, but the room was unlit. Abraham Letchowiski and the boy had long since gone to bed. Suddenly she threw her arms around him. "Kiss me!" she cried, in a choked tone. He yielded, struggling, however, against her vehement embrace. His hands gripped her shoulders. He wrenched himself free. He stood on the other side of the table, for a moment, panting. Her eyes, luminous, shone through the darkness at him. Then suddenly she swung round, climbed the two steps, passed through the shop and closed the door softly. Almost immediately she reopened it. In the dim street light outside he could see the outline of her figure. "Thank you very much, Mr. Married Man," she said, "for my evening."