When the display was over Platt seemed to hesitate. Zizzbaum was a little anxious, thinking that his customer might be inclined to try elsewhere. But Platt was only looking over in his mind the best building sites in Cactus City, trying to select one on which to build a house for his wife-to-be—who was just then in the dressing-room taking off an evening gown of lavender and tulle. “Take your time, Mr. Platt,” said Zizzbaum. “Think it over to-night. You won’t find anybody else meet our prices on goods like these. I’m afraid you’re having a dull time in New York, Mr. Platt. A young man like you—of course, you miss the society of the ladies. Wouldn’t you like a nice young lady to take out to dinner this evening? Miss Asher, now, is a very nice young lady; she will make it agreeable for you.” “Why, she doesn’t know me,” said Platt, wonderingly. “She doesn’t know anything about me. Would she go? I’m not acquainted with her.” “Would she go?” repeated Zizzbaum, with uplifted eyebrows. “Sure, she would go. I will introduce you. Sure, she would go.” He called Miss Asher loudly. She came, calm and slightly contemptuous, in her white shirt waist and plain black skirt. “Mr. Platt would like the pleasure of your company to dinner this evening,” said Zizzbaum, walking away. “Sure,” said Miss Asher, looking at the ceiling. “I’d be much pleased. Nine-eleven West Twentieth street. What time?” “Say seven o’clock.” “All right, but please don’t come ahead of time. I room with a school teacher, and she doesn’t allow any gentlemen to call in the room. There isn’t any parlor, so you’ll have to wait in the hall. I’ll be ready.” At half past seven Platt and Miss Asher sat at a table in a Broadway restaurant. She was dressed in a plain, filmy black. Platt didn’t know that it was all a part of her day’s work. With the unobtrusive aid of a good waiter he managed to order a respectable dinner, minus the usual Broadway preliminaries. Miss Asher flashed upon him a dazzling smile. “Mayn’t I have something to drink?” she asked. “Why, certainly,” said Platt. “Anything you want.” “A dry Martini,” she said to the waiter. When it was brought and set before her Platt reached over and took it away. “What is this?” he asked. “A cocktail, of course.” “I thought it was some kind of tea you ordered. This is liquor. You can’t drink this. What is your first name?” “To my intimate friends,” said Miss Asher, freezingly, “it is ‘Helen.’” “Listen, Helen,” said Platt, leaning over the table. “For many years every time the spring flowers blossomed out on the prairies I got to thinking of somebody that I’d never seen or heard of. I knew it was you the minute I saw you yesterday. I’m going back home to-morrow, and you’re going with me. I know it, for I saw it in your eyes when you first looked at me. You needn’t kick, for you’ve got to fall into line. Here’s a little trick I picked out for you on my way over.”