She thought of her former Rum Alley environment and turned to regard Pete's strong protecting fists.

She thought of the collar and cuff manufactory and the eternal moan of the proprietor: "What een hell do you sink I pie fife dolla a week for?
Play?
No, py damn." She contemplated Pete's man-subduing eyes and noted that wealth and prosperity was indicated by his clothes.

She imagined a future, rose-tinted, because of its distance from all that she previously had experienced.
As to the present she perceived only vague reasons to be miserable.
Her life was Pete's and she considered him worthy of the charge.

She would be disturbed by no particular apprehensions, so long as Pete adored her as he now said he did.

She did not feel like a bad woman.
To her knowledge she had never seen any better.
At times men at other tables regarded the girl furtively.