"Mr. Platt would like the pleasure of your company to dinner this
evening," said Zizzbaum, walking away.

"Sure," said Miss Asher, looking at the ceiling. "I'd be much
pleased. Nine-eleven West Twentieth street. What time?"

"Say seven o'clock."

"All right, but please don't come ahead of time. I room with a
school teacher, and she doesn't allow any gentlemen to call in the
room. There isn't any parlor, so you'll have to wait in the hall.
I'll be ready."

At half past seven Platt and Miss Asher sat at a table in a Broadway
restaurant. She was dressed in a plain, filmy black. Platt didn't
know that it was all a part of her day's work.

With the unobtrusive aid of a good waiter he managed to order a
respectable dinner, minus the usual Broadway preliminaries.

Miss Asher flashed upon him a dazzling smile.

"Mayn't I have something to drink?" she asked.

"Why, certainly," said Platt. "Anything you want."

"A dry Martini," she said to the waiter.

When it was brought and set before her Platt reached over and took
it away.