“When last I saw you,” I said, “you were trotting home with your
sister, like a good little girl. By the way, how is your sister?”
A flash of white teeth rewarded me.
“How kind of you to ask! My sister is well, I thank you.”
“She is here with you?”
“She remained in town,” said the minx with dignity.
“I don’t believe you’ve got a sister,” I laughed. “If you have, her
name is Harris!”
“Do you remember mine?” she asked, with a smile.
“Cinderella. But you’re going to tell me the real one now, aren’t you?”
She shook her head with a wicked look.
“Not even why you’re here?”
“Oh, that! I suppose you’ve heard of members of my profession
‘resting.’”
“At expensive French watering-places?”
“Dirt cheap if you know where to go.”