her front hair.

"No," she said, with the same indifference, "he didn't ask me to elope
with him; he just wanted to know if I'd tour Hester Street with him in
his canoe."

"I don't see no medals on you fer bein' the end man of the minstrel
show. Don't let a boat trip to Coney go to your head; you might get
brain-fever."

Gertrude Sprunt cast her eyes ceilingward.

"Well, one good thing, your brain will never cause you any trouble,
Ethyl."

"Lord, Gert, cut out the airs! You ain't livin' in the rose suite on the
tenth floor; you're only applyin' nail-polishes and cuticle-lotions down
here in the basement."

"There's something else I'm doing, too," retorted Miss Gertrude, with
unruffled amiability. "I'm minding my own affairs."

They fell to work again after these happy sallies, and it was late
afternoon before there came a welcome lull.

"Who's your last, Gert?"

"Mr. Chase." There were two red spots of excitement burning on Miss
Sprunt's cheeks, and her eyes showed more black than blue.

"Not that little guy with the Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep face? Take it
from me, he's a bank clerk or a library guy. Thank Heaven, I ain't got
no cheap skates on my staff!"

Miss Gertrude flushed up to her eyes.

"He may be a clerk, but--"

Mr. Chase entered quietly. There was a gentle, even shrinking smile upon
his features, and he carried a small offering covered with purple
tissue-paper, which he placed nervously upon the edge of the table.

"Good afternoon, Miss Sprunt." He pushed the greeting toward her. "May I
hope that you will accept these?"

"Oh, Mr. Chase, aren't you good?" The very quality of her voice was
suddenly different, like the softening of a violin note when you mute
the strings.

He drew his chair up to the table with the quiet satisfaction of a man
ready for a well-merited meal.

"You and violets are inseparable in my mind, Miss Sprunt, because you
both suggest the spring."

She laughed in low, rich tones, and her shirtwaist rose and fell rapidly
from short breathing.

"Why," she said, "that's the very nicest thing any one ever said to me!"

His hand, long-fingered and virile, drooped over the edge of the bowl
into the warm water; he leaned forward with his chest against the line
of the table.

"What do you mean, Miss Sprunt?"

She took his dripping hand from the water and dried each finger
separately.

"If you had been doing high pink finishes for three years you'd know the
differenc