The young man had gray eyes - and they lighted up now humorously.

"Boudoir? Ah - yes! Of course! Awfully neat!" His eyes, from
the chair that held the candle, strayed around the scantily
furnished, murky garret as though in search of a seat, and finally
rested inquiringly on Rhoda Gray.

"Youse can put de candle on de floor, if youse like," she said
grudgingly. "Dat's de only chair dere is."

"Thank you!" he said.

Rhoda Gray watched him with puckered brow, as he placed the gin
bottle with its candle on the floor, and appropriated the chair.
He might, from his tone, have been thanking her for some priceless
boon. He wore a boutonniere. His clothes fitted him like gloves.
He exuded a certain studied, almost languid fastidiousness - that
was wholly out of keeping with the quick, daring, agile wit that
he had exhibited the night before. She found her hand toying
unconsciously with the weapon in her pocket. She was aware that
she was fencing with unbuttoned foils. How much did he know
- about last night?

"Well, why don't youse spill it?" she invited curtly. "Who are
youse?"

"Who am I?" He lifted the lapel of his coat, carrying the
boutonniere to his nose. "My dear lady, I am an adventurer."