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"Is that the cheapest you can drink tea? Whew!"
She put down her coffee cup, which she usually held with one little
finger poised elegantly outward as if for flight.
"You've got a nerve!" she said, rising and pushing back her chair. "Over
whose ticker are you getting quotations that I come cheap?"
He was immediately conciliatory, rising also to enfold her in an embrace
that easily held her slightness.
"Go on," he said. "You could work me for the Woolworth Building in
diamonds if you wanted it badly enough."
"Funny way of showing it! I may be a lot of things, Wheeler, but I'm not
cheap. You're darn lucky that the war is on and I'm not asking for a
French car."
He crushed his lips to hers.
"You devil!" he said.
There were frequent parties. Dancing at Broadway cabarets, all-night joy
rides, punctuated with road-house stop-overs, and not infrequently, in
groups of three or four couples, ten-day pilgrimages to showy American
spas.
"Getting boiled out," they called it.


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