But she came, and hurriedly climbed in beside him. The narrow confines of the roadster caused their thighs to touch for their whole length and he felt a sudden thrill from the contact. When she looked up at him suddenly with a queer light in her greenish eyes, he knew she had felt his revolver.
"S'all right, baby," he grinned reassuringly. "I won't use it unless I have to."
He drove her to a North Side restaurant that was noted for its discretion. Seated opposite each other in a small private dining-room on the second floor, they consumed a fine and expensive meal, and two bottles of champagne. Those were the days when real champagne could be had at almost any restaurant.
The meal over, and with only another bottle and glasses on the table, Tony moved his chair around beside Vyvyan's. She had progressed nicely and by now had reached the stage where she occasionally blew a long breath upward along her face with a loud "Whoosh!", as if to blow her hair out of her eyes.
"Well, kid, how do you feel?" asked Tony, reaching for her hand.
"Kinda warm," she giggled.
"So do I."
