But they
won't. They spend the nights racing about with a gang of the young wretches
of this neighbourhood. They won't be able to stand getting up early for
work. And then----"
The German blew out a huge cloud of cigarette smoke, shrugged his shoulders
and added: "Miss Black-Hair may get on up town presently. But I doubt it.
The Tenderloin rarely recruits from down here."
The bottle was empty and the German bowed himself out. As the night was
hot, Howard opened the door a few moments afterward. At the other end of
the short hall light was streaming through the open door of the room the
two girls had taken. Before he could turn, there was a shadow and "Miss
Black-Hair" was standing in her doorway:
"Oh," she began, "I thought----"
Howard paused, looking at her. She was above the medium height--tall for a
woman--and slender. Her loose wrapper, a little open at her round throat,
clung to her, attracting attention to all the lines of her form. Her hair
was indeed black, jet black, waving back from her forehead in a line of
curving and beautiful irregularity. Her skin was clear and dark. There were
deep circles under her eyes, making them look unnaturally large,
pathetically weary. In repose her face was childish and sadly serious. When
she smiled she looked older and pert, but no happier.
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