Exactly two days before, she had leaned over the same table, an immaculate grooming operation--hurt, snooty, aloof, reading her disguised book. A Cinderella. Avid and anxious--haughty and pretty hateful--beautiful and not much good. I could say what was different about her now but it would be difficult to convey the true impression of that. Her hair, for one thing. It was just neatly combed--just casual, gold-blonde hair whose owner hadn't taken pains for once, with every single filament. Her dress. Another plain, costly print--but the body inside it was relaxed and not subconsciously trying to avoid creases. It didn't seem to fit quite as perfectly, and yet it suited her better: it made--would make--anybody, any man, look at the girl inside and the clothes after--not the other way around. The Musak was giving out with "Dardanella" and her foot was keeping time under the table. "Hello, Yvonne." She glanced up--from the morning paper. "'Lo, Phil." "Want company?" "Love it." She moved over a little. I came around the table and sat down. "You look right sweet this morning. Noon. Whatever it is." She folded up the paper. I ordered some cold salmon and potato salad and iced coffee. She studied me--gravely for the most part. Once, she showed a dimple. But her voice was placid. "You could be annoyed at me." "What for?" "Don't be obvious!" "Last night? Annoyed? I was tired. In a talky mood. It was my guest's own idea to come down. I said sure--and after she'd been there awhile--I changed my mind." "That's what Gwen thought." She ate a little of her fruit salad. Maybe her hand shook. Certainly not much. She drew a straight, easy breath. "I imagined I could learn something from her." "Did you?" She looked at me with frank, gray eyes. She smiled into herself. "You know I did." "What?" "Isn't it strange how much we attach to trifles--love and sex trifles? Set up a whole lifetime for happiness--but fix it so that one little act for a handful of minutes will ruin the whole thing." "That." She flicked her head to put back her hair. "It's mad! To imagine such things are so important! To imagine whole lives and people and families can be ruined by anything--so little!" I gave her the red schoolhouse riposte. "Knocking a person on the head is a little thing that hardly takes even one minute. But it's murder. Slipping a hundred G's out of the cash cage takes only a sec--but it's robbery--" "And kissing you in a cab the other night," she answered, "took only a couple of blocks and I don't love you in the least. We touched. A moment or two. It was fun. We'll never do it again. Or, say--we do. Is that like murder and robbery? Should it ruin lives?" "Not to my way of thinking. I don't feel wrecked."