She removed the bar, and when Lawler stepped in, closing the door instantly to keep out the rush of wind, she was standing in a corner, smiling demurely at him.
His face was grave, and he did not respond to her mood as he stood there, watching her.
"Well," she said, after a silence, during which his face did not change expression; "can't you say something complimentary ?" She lifted her eyes challengingly, as though to invite his inspection.
He saw that the tragedy had not affected her as it would have affected some women--his mother and Ruth Hamlin, for example--though he veiled the reproof in his eyes with a smile.

The vanity she exhibited, her self-interest, egotism disgusted him.
"You've found the mirror," he said.

"Well, you look pretty well slicked up.

What happened last night seems to have affected you very little." "Why should it ?" she demanded, defiantly.

"I don't intend to brood over two men that I did not know--two men who attempted to commit murder! Of course, it was an awful shock, and all that, but I am not going into hysterics over it.