It was the night of the Firemen's Ball.
Kirke was standing in his favourite position by the newel post, ready, at the last stroke of the gong, to enter the dining-room. He was invariably the first at meals, yet he always came in with his angular, nonchalant swagger, as though he felt nothing but contempt for the food and the girls that served it. Delight now lowered the gong and, as its vibrations ceased, the surge of men's voices once more possessed the hall. As Kirke came abreast of her, he peered closely at the ear nearest him.
"How's the ear?" he asked, and gave the lobe a little pinch.
Delight drew back her head. "Don't be so free with your hands." Her eyes flashed.
"You didn't object to me handling your ear when you wanted it pierced," he observed, following her in and taking his seat.
"That was different."
"You mean you wanted to mak' use of me then?"
Once he was in his chair he became to Delight, as did all the other boarders, her little child, to be cajoled and fed. "Beefsteak?" she asked, leaning over him and admiring the parting in his hair.
"Is that all?" he asked sharply. "Last nicht it was like leather."
"There's sausages," she said softly.
"Bring me some. You were trying to hold me off them," he added bitterly.
"Well, be nice then," she whispered and floated from the room.
Kirke sat scowling at his knife and fork till his plate was set before him. On it lay a piece of underdone steak, such as he liked and two sausages.
"Delight," he bit off, "you're a terrible woman. I be-
