She obeyed with exaggerated docility. “Have your own way. I’m helpless when you’re around. Do with me as you wish,” her manner implied.

It pleased Alfred Munn. He summoned a waiter with an arrogant motion of his hand, tossed the menu aside, as wholly beneath his notice, and frowningly ordered cocktails—this was before prohibition—oysters, and soup. Then he leaned across the table and suddenly became all soft suavity. The contrast was effective.

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

“Oh, pretty well,” Stella purred. Anyone could make Stella purr, who stroked her like that.

“How are things going?” he inquired in his terribly intimate manner.

“Oh, pretty well, I guess,” she purred again, and glanced up, her big Delft-blue eyes gazing straight into Alfred Munn’s little pig-like spots of brightness, rimmed with puffy lids.

I don’t care, Stella thought to herself in defense of the things she was allowing her bold eyes to imply to Alfred Munn. It’s only for today, and I’m perfectly aware of what he is—dissipated, rotten old thing, probably. Doesn’t hurt me any if he is. I’m beyond hurting now. He’s better than nobody.

Stella had almost forgotten what a cocktail tasted like. How it did bring back the good old happy days, when everybody admired and flattered, just as Alfred Munn was doing now. For he was doing just that to Stella—overdoing it a little. Well, she could stand a little overdoing in that line. It had been so long since any man had found her attractive! Or, at least, since any man had told her so. She had begun to fear that age had got a grip on her at last which she couldn’t loosen, however much she strained. Men hated old women. Alfred Munn restored her self-confidence wonderfully. He found her pleasing. He found her desirable. He told her the very sight of her made him feel young again. Asked her how in the world she did it. How she managed to keep her wonderful peaches-and-cream appearance. She didn’t look to him a day over twenty-five!

Oh, thought Stella, feeling all warm and comforted inside, if only he could see me in an evening gown!

As she preceded him out of the restaurant she was as pleased with the present-moment excitement, the present-moment attentions, as a young girl of sixteen on the way to her first matinee with an admiring suitor. Her pleasure was almost as innocent too.

2