Tump Pack come around and pay you my subscription, Peter.”
“I'll watch out for Tump,” promised Peter in a lightening mood, “—and make him pay.”
“He'll do it.”
“I don't doubt it. You ought to have him under perfect control. I meant to tell you what a pretty frock you have on.”
The girl dimpled, and dropped him a little curtsy, half ironical and wholly graceful.
Peter was charmed.
“Now keep that way, Cissie, smiling and human, not so grammatical. I wish I had a brooch.”
“A brooch?”
“I'd give it to you. Your dress needs a brooch, an old gold brooch at the bosom, just a glint there to balance your eyes.”
Cissie flushed happily, and made the feminine movement of concealing the V-shaped opening at her throat.
“It's a pleasure to doll up for a man like you, Peter. You see a girl's good points—if she has any,” she tacked on demurely.
“Oh, just any man—”
“Don't think it! Don't think it!” waved down Cissie, humorously.
“But, Cissie, how is it possible—”
“Just blind.” Cissie rippled into a boarding-school laugh. “I could wear the whole rue del Opera here in Niggertown, and nobody would ever see it but you.”
