He laughed and watched her as she went swiftly and gracefully about the table arrangement, glancing up at him from moment to moment.

“The idea,” she repeated, indignantly.  “I guess I’ll kiss you when I choose to.  You are not in holy orders, are you?  You haven’t made any particular vows, have you—?”

“One.”

She halted, looked at him, then went on with her labours, a delicate colour flushing face and neck.

“Where in the world is that salad, Louis?  A hungry girl asks you!  Don’t drive me to desperation—­”

“Are we going to have coffee?”

“No, it will keep us awake all night!  I believe you are bent on my destruction.”  And, as she hovered over the table, she hummed the latest popular summer-roof ballad: 

  “’Stand back!  Go ’way! 
  I can no longer stay
    Although you are a Marquis or a Earl! 
  You may tempt the upper classes
  With your villainous demi-tasses
  But—­
    Heaven will protect the Working Girl!’”

At length everything was ready.  He had placed two chairs opposite one another, but she wouldn’t have it, and made him lug up a bench, lay a cushion on it, and sit beside her.

They behaved foolishly; she fed him strawberries at intervals, discreetly, on a fork—­and otherwise.

“Think of it!  Fruit—­at three in the morning, Louis!  I hope Heaven will protect this working girl....  No, dear, I’d rather not have any champagne....  You forget that this is a brand-new girl you’re supping with ...  And, for reasons of her own—­perhaps as an example to you—­there is never again to be anything like that—­not even a cigarette.”

“Nonsense—­”

“Oh, it’s on account of my voice, not my morals, goose!  I have rather a nice voice you know, and, if we can afford it, it would be a jolly good idea to have it cultivated ...Isn’t this melon divine!  What fun, Louis!...  I believe you are a little happier.  That crease between your eyes has quite disappeared—­There!  Don’t dare let it come back!  It has no business there I tell you.  I know it hasn’t—­and you must trust my word.  Will you?”

She leaned swiftly toward him, placed both hands on his shoulders.

“You’ve a perfectly new girl to deal with,” she said, looking him in the eyes;—­“a miracle of meekness and patience that is rather certain to turn into a dreadful, frowsy old hausfrau some day.  But that’s the kind you wanted....  It’s none of my doings—­”

“Valerie!”

“What?”

“You darling!—­do you mean—­”

She closed his lips with hers.

“Silence,” she said; “we have plenty to talk over before the hour arrives for me to be a door-mat.  I won’t be a door-mat when I’m trying to be happy over a perfectly good supper!...  Besides I want to torture you while there’s still time.  I want to make you miserable by reminding you how disgracefully unmoral we are, here in your studio together at three in the morning—­” She stretched out a slim, white ringless hand, and lifted the third finger for his inspection: