"Ar, ee--yes--s", she pursued. The way she held her mouth made "yes" a hard word to get through that puckered aperture. She undulated like an ostrich-neck for a moment, then came to attention, with her head on one side, and a hand primping cautiously at her coiffure. Her eyes had fixed themselves on Daisy's "ring-finger", innocent of any certifying circlet of gold. "'Usbands _har_ queer," she repeated; her glance, after a short sharp sketch of Daisy's figure, coming to rest on the girl's face, "arn't they?" Daisy Nixon had knocked around quite a little in Toddburn district, and was familiar with most local types of both sexes; but the bearer of the feather-duster refused to be classified offhand in her mind. Cautiously, and with the feeling of one patting a strange dog, she responded: "Are they?" "Maybe, an' maybe not," said the other, enigmatically, "you carn't never say. Arsk them as knows." With this, the sylph transferred her glance from Daisy's face to Daisy's finger; then from finger to face; then back to finger; then back to face; and so on, ostentatiously, three or four times. Her cheeks, that, when she came into the room looked as though she had been running hard, gave still the same impression; though Daisy noticed that the rest of her face was a cool and floury white. There came a ring, at this moment, from the telephone in the hall. Duster and all, Daisy's vis-a-vis, moving with a queer lateral toss of her hips that made their obvious breadth more than ever noticeable, serpentined to answer the call. Returning after a moment, she said: "Bob--er--Mr. Markey, 'e wants to see you, in the office. Straightaway, 'e says." Wondering a little at this peremptory summons, Daisy went downstairs. She stepped a little diffidently across the dingy rotunda to the counter. There she found, leaning with an elbow on the edge of the register, a man slightly older than Beatty. He had a vest with do-funnys on the pockets; a coat broad-striped, snug at the waist, sharp-lapelled, and tight-shouldered. He had a face dappled with red. He was newly-barbered--shaved to the blood. He did not turn broadside-on as Daisy drew near, but spoke to her from sidewise, sliding his glances out of the corner of his eye and his words out of the corner of his mouth: "Got nothin' except hand-luggage, lady, huh?" Daisy looked a little puzzled. "Naw trunks, I mean," elucidated Mr. Markey, nasally; "get me?" "N-no, there's no trunks; just the two grips." "Just the _one_ grip," corrected her catechist, dramatically, fetching up Daisy's old telescope-bag from under the counter; "just this--see?" Daisy looked at it: Mr. Markey eyed her, tangently. "Ketch the point?" he said, after a moment, "we got no secur'tee for your board bill. You pay in advance--see?"