the way in which her
fingers persisted in trembling. Her face was turned away from the
swinging doors, but she knew when Henri came in. He stood just behind
her, in silence. When she turned to face him she found Henri looking at
her, and as he looked all the Heiny in him came to the surface and shone
in his eyes. He looked long and silently at Miss Gussie Fink--at the
sane, simple, wholesomeness of her, at her clear brown eyes, at her white
forehead from which the shining hair sprang away in such a delicate line,
at her immaculately white shirtwaist, and her smooth, snug-fitting collar
that came up to the lobes of her little pink ears, at her creamy skin, at
her trim belt. He looked as one who would rest his eyes--eyes weary of
gazing upon satins, and jewels, and rouge, and carmine, and white arms,
and bosoms.

"Gee, Kid! You look good to me," he said.

"Do I--Heiny?" whispered Miss Fink.

"Believe me!" replied Heiny, fervently. "It was just a case of swelled
head. Forget it, will you? Say, that gang in there to-night--why, say,
that gang----"

"I know," interrupted Miss Fink.

"Going home?" asked Heiny.

"Yes."

"Suppose we have a bite of something to eat first," suggested Heiny.

Miss Fink glanced round the great, deserted kitchen. As she gazed a
little expression of disgust wrinkled her pretty nose--the nose that
perforce had sniffed the scent of so many rare and exquisite dishes.

"Sure," she assented, joyously, "but not here. Let's go around the
corner to Joey's. I could get real chummy with a cup of good hot coffee
and a ham on rye."

He helped her on with her coat, and if his hands rested a moment on her
shoulders who was there to see it? A few sleepy, wan-eyed waiters and
Tillie, the scrub-woman. Together they started toward the door. Tillie,
the scrubwoman, had worked her wet way out of the passage and into the
kitchen proper. She and her pail blocked their way. She was sopping up
a soapy pool with an all-encompassing gray scrub-rag. Heiny and Gussie
stopped a moment perforce to watch her. It was rather fascinating to see
how that artful scrub-rag craftily closed in upon the soapy pool until it
engulfed it. Tillie sat back on her knees to wring out the water-soaked
rag. There was something pleasing in the sight. Tillie's blue calico
was faded white in patches and at the knees it was dark with soapy water.
Her shoes were turned up ludicrously at the toes, as scrub-women's shoe