"I ain't," Mary protested, pouting.
"Well, three sweethearts means no sweetheart at all," I remarked
Fanny and I went into the front parlor, a vast, high-ceiled room, as large as the average four-room flat in the "modern apartment-house" that had recently been completed on the next block. It was drearily too large for the habits of the East Side of my time, depressingly out of keeping with its sense of home. It had lanky pink-and-gold furniture and a heavy bright carpet, all of which had a forbidding effect. It was as though the chairs and the sofa had been placed there, not for use, but for storage. Nor was there enough furniture to give the room an air of being inhabited, the six pink-and-gold pieces and the marble-topped center-table losing themselves in spaces full of gaudy desolation
"She's awful saucy," said Fanny.
I caught her in my arms. "I have not three sweethearts. I have only one, and that's a real one," I cooed
"Only one? Really and truly?" she demanded, playfully. She gathered me to her plump bosom, planting a deep, slow, sensuous kiss on my lips
I cast a side-glance to ascertain if Mary was not spying upon us
"Don't be uneasy," Fanny whispered. "She won't dare. We can kiss all we want."
I thought she was putting it in a rather matter-of-fact way, but I kissed her with passion, all the same
"Dearest! If you knew how happy I am," I murmured