Perhaps for days he had been compelled to sleep there in the interests of dance-hall atmosphere.
He again scanned the group, for he remembered, too, that the Montague girl would also be working here in God's Great Outdoors.

His eyes presently found her.

She was indeed a blonde hussy, short-skirted, low-necked, pitifully rouged, depraved beyond redemption.

She stood at the end of the piano, and in company with another of the dance-hall girls who played the accompaniment, she was singing a ballad the refrain of which he caught as "God calls them Angels in Heaven, we call them Mothers here." The song ended, the Montague girl stepped to the centre of the room, looked aimlessly about her, then seized an innocent bystander, one of the rough characters frequenting this unsavoury resort, and did a dance with him among the tables.

Tiring of this, she flitted across the room and addressed the bored director who impatiently awaited the changing of lights.