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 Soon he would kiss her with his thick, soft lips. All right; she could go it again for the sake of a half million dollar order; but she must make sure of it this time, with that smart society girl kicking into the game.

"Love me a little?" demanded Jello.

"Lots," lied Di. She despised him.

The cab, she knew, had been sent for and paid for by Art Slengel; the appointment at the corner and all other arrangements as to destination and entertainment there had been made by Art. Jello played merely a passive part in the proceedings. He had not the nerve and courage of his own to go after a girl, but he would drop into a date made for him, with his way paid and everything prepared.

He enfolded her with a soft, round arm and kissed her several times. Sometimes she responded. It was not far, thank God, to the studio where they were bound. There would be dancing for a while; Jello loved to dance. It was awful to dance with him—sweating, puffing, pushing his heavy, fat feet after hers—but it was better than being in a cab with him.

They drew up before an entrance distinguished by a striped canvas canopy and sentineled by a tall, obsequious mulatto. Reluctantly Jello released Di and she jumped out and ran into the vestibule and up iron stairs, with him lumbering behind her.

At a door, behind which dance music beat, she waited for him and together they debouched into a large, studiolike room, cleared in the center for dancing, and remarkable, as to its perimeter, for its convenient nooks. Some of these were architectural, following actual recesses and