house. I believe you have the nerve, all right. Men with your sort of close
curly hair are never--bashful!" she laughed shortly.

"Boyle's rent is safe--for a while," admitted Keith.

"Career?" she went on, looking him in the eyes speculatively, and allowing
her gaze to sink deep into his. He noticed that her eyes were a gray green,
like semi-precious stones of some sorts, with surface lights, but also with
grayer radiations that seemed to go below the surface to smouldering
depths--disturbing eyes, like the perfume. "Career?" she repeated. "I think
you hold yourself better--a career in the riff-raff of this town." She
shook her head archly. "But adventure! Oh, la! There's plenty of that--all
sorts!" She gave the impression of meaning a great deal more than she said.
"I wish I were a man!" she exclaimed, and laughed.

"I'm glad you're not," rejoined Keith sincerely.

She tapped him lightly on the arm with her fan.

"Oh, la!" she cried.

Keith laughed meaningly and mischievously. He was feeling entirely at home
--in his mental shirtsleeves--thoroughly at ease.

"You're a lawyer, are you not?" she asked him.

"Try to be."

"Going to practise?"