The one point of consolation for her lay in the fact that he was
enjoying his dinner. He ate with a relish that would have flattered any
hostess. Sometimes when he put his knife in his mouth she winced with
apprehension, but aside from a few such lapses in etiquette he conducted
himself with solemn and punctilious propriety.

When he had finished his second slice of pie, and pushed back his chair,
Miss Mink waited hopefully for him to say good-bye. He was evidently
getting out his car fare now, searching with thumb and forefinger in his
vest pocket.

"If it is not to trouble you more, may I ask a match?" he said.

"A match? What on earth do you want with a match?" demanded Miss Mink.
Then a look of apprehension swept over her face. Was this young man
actually proposing to profane the virgin air of her domicile with the
fumes of tobacco?

"Perhaps you do not like that I should smoke?" Bowinski said instantly.
"I beg you excuse, I--"

"Oh! that's all right," said Miss Mink in a tone that she did not
recognize as her own, "the matches are in that little bisque figure on
the parlor mantel. I'll get you to leave the front door open, if you
don't mind. It's kinder hot in here."

Five o'clock that afternoon found Miss Mink and Alexis Bowinski still
sitting facing each other in the front parlor. They were mutually
exhausted, and conversation after having suffered innumerable relapses,
seemed about to succumb.