Unsmilingly she reached over with one slim forefinger, as if compelled, and touched the blond hairs on Nick’s wrist. Just touched them. Nick remained motionless. The girl shivered a little, deliciously. She glanced at him shyly. Her lips were provocative. Thoughtlessly, blindly, Nick suddenly flung an arm about her, kissed her. He kissed her as he had never kissed Miss Bauers — as he had never kissed Miss Ahearn, Miss Olson, or just Gertie. The girl did not scream, or push him away, or slap him, or protest, or giggle as would have the above-mentioned young ladies. She sat breathing rather fast, a tinge of scarlet showing beneath the tan.

“Well, Pan,” she said, low-voiced, “you’re running true to form, anyway.” She eyed him appraisingly. “Your appeal is in your virility, I suppose. Yes.”