"Don't see why you should try. It's pretty good dope, I guess." She snuggled herself in between Graham and Kenyon, putting an arm round each. She bent across Kenyon to examine Peter and gave an exaggeratedly dramatic cry of surprise and admiration. "My God! It's a giant! Say, dearie, you'd be the King of all the pussies, in a skin. All them dinky little love-birds would hop round your feet and chirp. Oh, gosh, you'd make some hit among the artists, sure!" "Think so?" said Peter. He would have given a great deal for a pipe at that moment, so that he could puff out great clouds of smoke as a disinfectant. "A gala night," said Graham. "Sure. If the police were to make a raid to-night,--gee, there'd be a fine list of names in to-morrer's papers!" "Think they will?" asked Kenyon. "By Jove! I wish they would. Think of seeing these people scuffling like frightened rabbits. It would be epoch-making." The girl turned a keenly interested eye on Kenyon and looked him over with unabashable deliberation. "You've got a funny kind of accent," she said. "What is it? English?" It was the first time that Kenyon had ever been accused of speaking with an accent. He was delighted. It appealed to his alert sense of humour. He laughed and nodded. "The giant ain't English, is he? Are you, dearie?" "No," said Peter. "That's fine. I guess I don't like the English much. They always strike me as being like Americans, trying hard to be different." "You don't dislike me, I hope? That would be a very bitter blow," said Kenyon, tweeking her ear. "Oh, you're a comic," she said. "You're all right. Is this your first visit?" "Yes. Have you been here long?" Kenyon asked the question carelessly, as though to keep the ball moving. It was, as a matter of fact, the beginning of his plan to disillusion Graham. "Oh, I've been in the business ever since it started. Ask the kid, he knows. Don't you, kid?" "Rather," said Graham. "I used to be in the chorus, but this is ther life." "I suppose so," said Kenyon. "Variety, gaiety, art,--what more can any girl desire?" "Dollars," she said dryly. "And I make more here, by a long way." "That's good. But,--but don't you get a little fed up? I mean it must be hopelessly monotonous to be shut up in one place all the time." "Don't know whatcher mean. Translate that, won't you?" "He means never getting out," said Graham. "Never getting out! I don't get you, Steve. Me and my sister get away after the show, same as any other." "What!" Graham was incredulous. It struck him that the girl was lying for reasons of loyalty to her employer. He knew better. "Oh, I see!" said Kenyon, leading her on carefully. "You don't live here, then?" "Live here? Of course I don't. I come about ten o'clock every night and leave anywhere between three and four in the morning. Earlier if there's nothing doing." "Oh, I thought that the girls here are,--well, held up, kept here all the time,--prisoners, so to speak."