"You're an awfully good fellow, John," said the little nurse, pleasantly.
"I know I've been hurting you a bit. Please, I'm sorry the medicine
tastes so badly."

The only thing I could do was to lift up one of her hands and kiss a
white kid glove, _faute de mieux_. It was stretched over her fingers,
however, and hence was part of her.

When we reached the restaurant she selected a table and placed herself so
that she might see as many diners as possible. If there had been people
outside of Paradise, Eve would certainly have peeped through the palings.
I handed her the bill of fare and she begged for Cape Cods.

"You order the rest of it," she commanded. "I'm going to look."

While I discussed dishes with the waiter her eyes wandered over the big
room, taking in pretty dresses and becoming coiffures. Then she watched
the leader of the little orchestra, who certainly wielded a masterful
bow, and gave a little sigh of content.

"We really could afford this at least once or twice a week," I sought to
tempt her, "and the theatre besides, and--and--"

She looked at me very gravely, moving a little from side to side, as if
my head presented varied and interesting aspects.

"That's one of the troubles with you," she finally said. "You have some
money, a nice reasonable amount of money, and you can afford some things,
and I can't tell whether you're going to be an amateur or a
professional."