He raised his head with an ironical smile; but the smile fled as he noticed that her face was blankly serious. "I don't like that!" he said abruptly. "What?" "You know very well I am not inviting you to meet my wife." "What _do_ you want with me, then, Mr. Sassoon?" she said calmly, looking directly at him with her cloudy blue eyes of a child. He rose, nonplused, walked to the window and slowly back. What was she--straightforward or deep? Did she wish to come directly to a business understanding, or--or was she truly independent and seeking this method to terminate the acquaintance? An instinct warned him of the danger in an answer. He returned, and said, leaning on the mantelpiece: "Bring a friend, if you wish. I'll have in the Comte de Joncy.... You've aroused his curiosity--" "At your private apartments?" "Of course!" "No!" "At Tenafly's, then." "At Tenafly's--down-stairs--yes!" "A party of four?" "No. Come to think of it, it'll be more interesting just with you." This unexpected answer, said in the most natural manner imaginable, perplexed him more than ever. She noticed it, quite delighted at the helplessness of the experienced hunter. "You won't lunch in a party of four at my apartments, but you will lunch with me alone at a public restaurant." "Quite so!" "And your reputation?" "It isn't a question of reputation--my security! I wouldn't trust you--that's all!" He didn't choose to discuss this, but sought to give the conversation a different turn. "You are satisfied with this?" he said, with a sudden crook of his arm. "You are delightfully direct, aren't you?" she said. "You usually don't have so much trouble coming to an understanding with women, do you?" "No, I don't." "Well, what do you want to know?" "I'm curious to see how you live--your room--" She shook her head. "That you'll never see." "But--" "Oh, yes, I make a difference. There are men you receive in your room, and men you receive always in a parlor, and there's no trouble at all in classifying them!" She jumped up, with a laugh. "And you, with all your experience among my sex, can't make up your mind about me." "You pay what? Eight--ten--fifteen a week. And you have your automobile," he said, pursuing his idea. "Ah, that's it! Have I an auto or not? But that's not what you want to know! You want to know if some one gives me an automobile, and, if so, why? Well, have I or haven't I? Find out!" "You know," he said in his deliberate dragging way, "I don't believe that story about the orchids!" "What do you mean?" she said, with such a swift turn from provoking malice to erect gravity that he hesitated. "There was a hundred-dollar bill in that bouquet, Miss Baxter!" he said, changing the attack slightly. "A hundred!" she said, drawing herself up in surprise and scorn. "Ah! now I understand--everything. So that's why you are here! To get your value!" "No--no," he protested, confused.