“Let me congratulate you,” said Julia, “upon your sleight of tongue. Of course, it’s been done before. ‘And whispering “I will ne’er dissent”—dissented.’ Still, the way in which your preference for Hill Street worms its way out of every protest you make is rather precious. Never mind. I’ll try and ignore it.” Lazily she selected a cigarette. “I think if we painted those pale doors black . . . and the ceilings. . . .”
“And the walls,” said Hubert. “Don’t forget the walls.”
Miss Willow frowned.
Then—
“It would be very effective,” she continued, crossing her legs.
“One moment,” said her swain. “Are you being serious?”
“Why not?” said Miss Willow. “Black is most decorative.”
“It’s damned suggestive,” said Hubert. “Fancy shaving in a black bathroom. You couldn’t help cutting yourself, could you?”
“I really don’t know,” said Julia. “But if you did—well, the sponge would be within reach, wouldn’t it?” She paused to light her cigarette. “I repeat that, properly done in black, that flat would be most effective.”
“All right,” said Challenger. “I don’t care. Have it black outside, too, if you like. That might tempt them to let us change the name—4, Coroner’s Court, ’d sound very well. Telegraphic address, Morgue.”