I went over to the bar which was squeezed into a corner of the small and low room, and taking a seat near the young man ordered a whisky. While I drank it I saw his profile. It had a familiar charm, like a picture from long ago, precious for the very dust that has settled on it from the past. Oh, then it flashed through me. It was Herman, the friend of my youth.
“Herman!” I stammered.
She smiled. “Harry? Have you found me?”
It was Hermine, barely disguised by the makeup of her hair and a little paint. The stylish collar gave an unfamiliar look to the pallor of her intelligent face, the wide black sleeves of her dress-coat and the white cuffs made her hands look curiously small, and the long black trousers gave a curious elegance to her feet in their black and white silk socks.
“Is this the costume, Hermine, in which you mean to make me fall in love with you?”
“So far,” she said, “I have contented myself with turning the heads of the ladies. But now your turn has come. First, let’s have a glass of champagne.”
So we did, perched on our stools, while the dance went on around us to the lively and fevered strain of