She laughed at him.
“Often, my dear brother,” she answered. “Why?”
“I never have,” he confessed. “We are going to have some now.”
She would have checked him but he had summoned a waiter imperiously and given his order.
“My dear Leonard,” she protested, “this is shocking extravagance.”
“Is it?” he replied. “I don't care. Tell me about the theatre. Were they kind to you there? Will you be able to keep your place?”
“The girls were all much nicer than I expected,” she told him, “and the musical director said that my voice was much too good for the chorus. Oh, I do hope that they will keep me!”
“They would be idiots if they didn't,” he declared, vigorously. “You sing better and you dance more gracefully and to me you seemed much prettier than any one else there.”
She laughed into his eyes.
“My dear brother,” she exclaimed, “your education is progressing indeed! It is positively the first evening I have ever heard you attempt to make pretty speeches, and you are quite an adept already.”