“Nice sort of hookey place, isn’t it?” she commented.
“Do you know the man at the next table?”
“Which one?”
“The fat one, who is staring so.”
“Oh, no. I thought you meant the one who lifts his glass to me every time he drinks.”
Jarvis pushed back his chair furiously.
“I will smash his head,” he said, rising.
“Jarvis! Sit down! You silly thing! He’s only in fun. It’s the spirit of the place.”
“I won’t have you toasted by strange men,” he thundered.
“All right. I’ll make a face at him next time,” she said, soothingly; but somewhere, down in the depths of her being, where her cave ancestor lurked, she was pleased. As they finished their coffee, Bambi picked up the check, which the waiter laid beside Jarvis’s plate.
“Do you mind my paying it? Would you rather do it?”
“Certainly not. It’s your money. Why should I pretend about it?”
She could have hugged him for it. Instead, she overfeed the waiter.
