going to Sherry's. I'd just as soon be out," she went on ruminatingly. "Shouldn't be surprised if she didn't bring that guy in, after all."
He had already rung the bell of the lift.
"Look at me!" she exclaimed ironically. "Nice sort of an object I am to take out! Got a raincoat on—though it's dry enough—because my coat's gone at the seams."
"If you don't stop talking like that," he declared, "I'll march into one of those great stores and order everything a woman wants to wear. Look at me. Did you ever see such clothes!"
"A man's different," she protested. "Besides, you've got a way with you of looking as though you could wear better clothes if you wanted to—something superior. I don't like it. I should like you better if you were common."
"You're going to like me better," he assured her, "because we are going to have a cocktail together within the next three minutes. Look at you—pale as you can stick. I bet you haven't had a mouthful of food all day. Neither have I, except a slice of bread and butter with my tea this morning. We're a nice sort of couple to talk about clothes. What we want is food."
She swayed for a moment and pretended that she tripped. He caught her arm and steadied her. She jerked it from him.
"Have your own way," she yielded.
They reached the corner of the street, plunged into the surging crowds of Broadway, passed into the huge restaurant, were once more pounced upon by a businesslike but slightly patronizing maître
