It would
not have mattered to Tunis Latham where he had met her or under what
circumstances; he only knew that there was a mysterious charm about
her which attracted and held his heart captive.
"Will you have anything more, sir?" The low, yet penetrating voice
was in his ear. She hovered over his chair and her near presence
thrilled him. He had not much more than played with the food. Now he
replied briefly, without thinking:
"Apple-meringue."
"Yes, sir."
His neighbor pushed back his chair and got up noisily. He picked up
his check, glanced at it, and snorted.
"Hey!" he said to the girl returning with Tunis' pie. "What's this
for?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You've rung me up an extry nickel. What's the idea?"
"Fifteen cents for meringue, sir."
"Huh? Who had meringue? I had apple pie, plain apple pie. It's ten
cents. This feller"--indicating Tunis--"ordered apple-meringue; not
me."
He held out the check for correction belligerently.
"You ordered apple-meringue, sir, and I brought it. You ate it. The
check is correct."
Low and timid as the voice was, gently as the words were spoken,
Tunis sensed an undercurrent of firmness and determination in the
girl's character that he had not before suspected.
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