"Well, men come here either for money, for adventure, or to make a career." She marked each on the tablecloth with the end of a fork. "Which is it?" "Guess," laughed Keith. "You don't need money--or else you have a wonderful nerve to take the Boyle house. I believe you have the nerve, all right. Men with your sort of close curly hair are never--bashful!" she laughed shortly. "Boyle's rent is safe--for a while," admitted Keith. "Career?" she went on, looking him in the eyes speculatively, and allowing her gaze to sink deep into his. He noticed that her eyes were a gray green, like semi-precious stones of some sorts, with surface lights, but also with grayer radiations that seemed to go below the surface to smouldering depths--disturbing eyes, like the perfume. "Career?" she repeated. "I think you hold yourself better--a career in the riff-raff of this town." She shook her head archly. "But adventure! Oh, la! There's plenty of that--all sorts!" She gave the impression of meaning a great deal more than she said. "I wish I were a man!" she exclaimed, and laughed. "I'm glad you're not," rejoined Keith sincerely. She tapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. "Oh, la!" she cried. Keith laughed meaningly and mischievously. He was feeling entirely at home--in his mental shirtsleeves--thoroughly at ease. "You're a lawyer, are you not?" she asked him. "Try to be." "Going to practise?" "If any practice comes my way." She looked at him, smiling slowly. "Oh, it'll come fast enough." She seized her glass and held it to him. "Here's to your career!" she cried. "Bottoms up!" They clinked glasses and drank. "You must meet people--influential people," she told him. "We must see what we can do; I'll have some of them in." "You're simply fine to take all this trouble for me!" She tapped him again on the arm. "Silly! We take care of our own people, of _course!_ Let's plan it. Have you any connections in town at all?" "Well, I've met quite a few people about town, and I have some letters." "Casual acquaintances are well enough, but your letters?" "I have one to Calhoun Bennett, and to Mr. Dempster, and Mr. Farwell, and Truett--" But she was making a wry face. "What's the matter with, them?" he demanded. "Cal Bennett's all right--but the others--oh, I suppose they're all right in a business way--but--" "But, what?" She made a helpless little gesture. "I can't describe it--you know--the sort that are always so keen on doing their _duty!_" She laughed; and to his subconscious surprise Keith found himself saying sympathetically: "I know the sort of people who always pay their debts!" They looked into each other's eyes and laughed in comradeship. In sober life Keith did his duty reasonably well, and was never far behind financially.