Tommy grinned.
“All right, darling. That isn’t so affectionate.”
“I don’t like such endearments, Tommy. Please don’t.”
“Not from anybody?”
He looked sharply to see where this shot would land.
“Not from anybody.”
“You’re not discriminating against me?” he said lightly.
She determined to break this line of attack.
“No, and it’s nothing to talk about anyhow.”
“Not in a public place?”
“Not in any place.”
He sighed lugubriously.
“That’s just it,” he murmured, “nobody calls me darling and when I try to call anybody else darling -———”
“Is that a habit?”
“No, Dot, darling——”
“I told you not to-"
“Well, I won’t—if you don’t want me to, baby.”
“I won't be called baby.”
“Very good, Miss Loamford. Or would you prefer Madame Loamford?”
He laughed softly.
“Don’t mind the kidding, Dot. I guess you understand.”
“I don’t understand being called darling, dearie, baby and such things.”
He looked at her seriously.
“If you really don’t like it, Dot, why, that settles it as far as I’m concerned. So we'll stick to the picture.”
He felt a sudden thump against his shoulder. He turned about quickly, coming up face to face with a stout, red-faced woman.
“If you two want to make love,’ announced the stout,
[94]
