“Mr. Platt would like the pleasure of your company to dinner this evening,” said Zizzbaum, walking away.

“Sure,” said Miss Asher, looking at the ceiling. “I’d be much pleased. Nine-eleven West Twentieth Street. What time?”

“Say seven o’clock.”

“All right, but please don’t come ahead of time. I room with a school-teacher, and she doesn’t allow any gentlemen to call in the room. There isn’t any parlour, so you’ll have to wait in the hall. I’ll be ready.”

At half-past seven Platt and Miss Asher sat at a table in a Broadway restaurant. She was dressed in a plain filmy black. Platt didn’t know that it was all a part of her day’s work.

With the unobtrusive aid of a good waiter he managed to order a respectable dinner, minus the usual Broadway preliminaries.

Miss Asher flashed upon him a dazzling smile.

“Mayn’t I have something to drink?” she asked.

“Why, certainly,” said Platt. “Anything you want.”

“A dry Martini,” she said to the waiter.

When it was brought and set before her Platt reached over and took it away.

“What is this?” he asked.

“A cocktail, of course.”

“I thought it was some kind of tea you ordered. This is liquor. You can’t drink this. What is your first name?”

“To my intimate friends,” said Miss Asher freezingly, “it is ‘Helen.”’

“Listen, Helen,” said Platt, leaning over the table. “For many years every time the spring flowers blossomed out on the prairies I got to thinking of somebody that I’d never seen or heard of. I knew it was you the minute I saw you yesterday. I’m going back home to-morrow and you’re going with me. I know if, for I saw it in your eyes when you first looked at me. You needn’t kick, for you’ve got to fall into line. Here’s a little trick I picked out for you on my way over.”

He flicked a two-carat diamond solitaire ring across the table. Miss Asher flipped it back to him with her fork.

“Don’t get fresh,” she said severely.

“I’m worth a hundred thousand dollars,” said Platt. “I’ll build you the finest house in West Texas.”

“You can’t buy me, Mr. Buyer,” said Miss Asher, “if you had a hundred million. I didn’t think I’d have to call you down. You didn’t look like the others to me at first, but I see you’re all alike.”

“All who?” asked Platt.

“All you buyers. You think because we girls have to go out to dinner with you or lose our jobs that you’re privileged to say what you please. Well, forget it. I thought you were different from the others, but I see I was mistaken.”