"Not another!" chanted the bartenders, in chorus.
"Yes," answered Henri, solemnly, and waited while the wine
cellar was made to relinquish another rare jewel.
"O, you Heiny!" called Miss Sweeney, "tell us what she looks
like. If I had time I'd take a peek myself. From what Tony says
she must look something like Maxine Elliot, only brighter."
Henri turned. He saw Miss Fink. A curious little expression
came into his eyes--a Heiny look, it might have been called, as he
regarded his erstwhile sweetheart's unruffled attire, and clear
skin, and steady eye and glossy hair. She was looking past him in
that baffling, maddening way that angry women have. Some of
Henri's poise seemed to desert him in that moment. He appeared a
shade less debonair as he received the precious bottle from the
wine man's hands. He made for Miss Fink's desk and stood watching
her while she checked his order. At the door he turned and looked
over his shoulder at Miss Sweeney.
"Some time," he said, deliberately, "when there's no ladies
around, I'll tell you what I think she looks like."
And the little glow of color in Miss Gussic Fink's smooth
cheek became a crimson flood that swept from brow to throat.
"Oh, well," snickered Miss Sweeney, to hide her own
discomfiture, "this is little Heiny's first New Year's Eve in the
dining-room.
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