Jewel Le Compte (Mr. Gore had suggested the changed spelling of her name) sat half reclining in a Morris chair, sewing a ribbon strap on a sheer undergarment, with microscopic stitches. Joe lay stretched out on a divan with his hands under his head, watching her. She was wrapped in a blue silk kimono embroidered with pink chrysanthemums; Joe had picked that out, too. Her legs were crossed, and from the foot which was elevated, a quilted blue mule dangled free of her rosy heel. Her plentiful black hair was gathered in a rough twist on top of her head: and she had no make-up on her face. Joe liked to see her without her war paint; when she left it off, the babyish look came back to her cheeks; they no longer looked all of a piece; but showed delicate, dusky discolorations and unevennesses. A damn pretty girl, Jewel; and how well she suited her luxurious surroundings! He had had the wit to foresee that while she was still in Allen street. From time to time Jewel looked up from her sewing, and her eyes travelled with pleasure over Joe from head to foot. “You’re fillin’ out,” she remarked. “You’ll soon be a man.” “Aah!” said Joe; “I’m man enough alretty to be _your_ master!” Jewel laughed. “Listen to it! I got you to nurse, boy.” “Where would you be if it wasn’t for me?” demanded Joe. “Oh, as a business manager you’re all right,” said Jewel. “That wasn’t what I meant. . . . In ten years maybe you can talk about bein’ my master!” “How do you know I’ll stick to you that long?” asked Joe. “Well, you will. Not that it matters . . . but you will.” Joe felt uncomfortable. “Why will I?” “I don’t know . . . I guess we’re a pair . . .” A thousand recollections tumbled into Joe’s mind. He looked at Jewel and in her unsmiling eyes he saw the same things that were in his own mind. For the moment he seemed to have become Jewel; and Jewel him; he the woman; Jewel the man. It made him feel queer. “Aah!” he snarled. Jewel resumed her sewing. “It’s like this,” she said; “with all the other fellows I’ve known, I had to chuck a bluff, see? One kind of bluff or another. And they the same with me. Like an Irish jig, when you dance up to your partner and back. . . . But with you—though you’re only a boy, it’s different. . . . You belong to me, like.” “The hell I do!” said Joe. Jewel shrugged. “Not that my saying so, matters. Either it’s so or it isn’t so, and we can’t change it.” “I t’ink you got Jewish blood, too,” said Joe, “That’s how they talk.” “I do’ know what I got,” she said indifferently. “The Jews are a great people,” said Joe; “when they chuck all that Jewish bunk, and get down to tacks. . . . But an old-fashioned Jew! Gee! Like my old man. A preachin’ Jew’s the limit!” Jewel was not listening to this. The color of her eyes seemed to darken. “I know why it is,” she said. “With me . . . you forget yourself.” “You forget yourself, too,” said Joe quickly.