The woman did not answer at once.  She was looking at the customer.  She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.

“Have you lived here long?” she said.

Harlson had been so isolated, that to have an inquiry made in relation to his personal affairs seemed droll.  It seemed something like humanity again, as well.

He studied more closely the woman opposite.  She did not convey any idea of a creature of innate dishonesty or treacherous character.  She had the appearance of being a shrewd, merry, healthy sinner.  He forgot that she owed him an answer as he met her question: 

“No, I have not lived here long, but I am as hungry as if I had lived here for half a century.  What shall I order?”

She looked at him curiously.  His language was not of the kind she had been accustomed to.  She measured him from head to heel, while he noted her examination and was amused, and showed it in his face.  She blushed, or rather flushed, and measured him again.  Then she told him what he should order most wisely for the sum he had named.  He was surprised at the quantity and quality of it.

The woman, meanwhile, had left him without further comment.  As he was ending his meal, she came in again and took the seat in front of him.

“You are hungry,” she said.

“I was, decidedly.  I’m not now.”

She looked him over.

“You have spent only fifteen cents.  What is the matter?”

He was surprised.  He looked into her eyes and was perplexed.  Why should this woman ask him this question?  But he could see nothing in those eyes save a gray inquisition.

“I had only that much to spend to-night, that’s all.  Do you see anything absurd about it?”

The woman was puzzled in turn.  She looked into the man’s face in a fearless way enough, but did not know what to say.  Then again came that odd way of looking over him.  Finally she broke out: 

“You haven’t any more money, and yet you put on airs.  I like it.”

“I am much obliged,” said he.

“That isn’t fair.  You know what I mean.  And you know already—­you’re not a fool—­what this place is.  It is mine.  The little restaurant in front is but a part.  Women come here—­and men.  Two women live here.  Did you think that?”

Harlson said he had inferred, since he came in, that the restaurant was not a restaurant alone.

“It’s a funny world,” he said.

She was bothered.  “I don’t know what you mean about the world, and I don’t care.  But I would like to know what your business is, and how you are doing?”

“I am not doing well, and get hungry sometimes.  Had it not been for that I should not have come here to-night.  But what is it to you?”

“Can’t you see?  Why am I talking to you?”

“I don’t know.”

She looked at him steadily again.

“What do you want?” was his inquiry.