She stood there, looking at me through the murk. "Not even--prettier?" "What's prettiness? The power to attract. If you were a genuine, all-around, Grade-A woman--you'd have the power to attract, without trying to impress a soul. As a pretty girl--you're not superior to a hundred thousand others--and inferior to tens of thousands." "At least," she murmured, "I'm trying." "Are you?" "Am I not?" "Who can really tell but you? For all I know, Yvonne, you may just be indulging in some new paroxysm of the spoiled rich matron." "I did want to call Rol, though." "Sure. When you had the jitters. Flight, maybe." "Then do you think I ought to wallow in myself?" "It's your word--wallow." She was silent for quite a while. Finally she drew a breath and stretched voluptuously. "Did you ever feel as if you'd like to seduce everybody you saw?" "Just the good-looking women." "Are you trying to impress me--now?" I laughed. "Guess so." "Couldn't I begin with you?" I shook my head. "You don't know yourself well enough to suit me, at the moment. And--anyway--I'm booked." "A date!" "A wife." She considered that at length, too. "Gwen said last night she knew from the minute she saw you that you wanted company, but not particularly a pretty girl. Just a person. She said she told you all those things about herself, hoping--" "They had their little effect," I reminded Yvonne. "Your Ricky," she answered, "must be some gal." "She's my gal--which makes her some gal to me." The door knocked again--the front door, this time. It was a box of flowers--yellow roses, again. For a minute I thought the manager had slipped up. There wasn't any card. Then I knew. That, I thought, was what it meant: a perception of the nature of other people. Flowers are for the living, and I'm fond of yellow roses. They'd be no use to me, dead. So I had these now. To remind me that the idea of flowers for the living, though seldom put in practice, describes the immortal essence. Except for taking Paul off my back awhile, there wasn't anything else that Dave could do or say. But this, he did and said. I stood there, rooted with the comprehension. Yvonne fumbled womanishly through the stems. "Who sent them?" "A guy I know." She gasped. "Guy!" "It's the grown-up manifestation." "Manifestation of what?" "Put them in water while I get dressed," I said. "Of something you might learn--someday." 5 We had dinner together in the Knight's Bar. She with one white orchid. Jay received us with just the right look of appreciation for her--just the right glimmer for me. He was sorry such things happened, but he admired my taste. The hotel staff, I knew, was by now vigorously discussing the matter. The girls who ran the elevators, the telephone girls, the room-service checkers, the cashiers, the waiters, the bellboys. Pros and cons: