King looked at his wife with half quizzical amusement. “Can’t we celebrate some way, even so?”
“Oh, yes—let’s!” she cried, eager to make the most of an unexpected fête day.
“I simply must step around to the florist’s and order you some orchids. Shall I, little girl?”
“Please do!” she laughed. “I’m sure you’ll find orchids in abundance just now—and so cheap! Really yours for the picking!”
“You must admit,” he reminded her, “that living in a jungle possesses some advantages.”
“Yes, even if not quite all the comforts of home!”
She liked these little flashes of “repartee,” for they always carried her back to the wonderful night at the ball; yet in the midst of it, oddly enough, she remembered the frilled paper-lace valentine Jerome had sent her a year ago. She had found it, thick with cupids, tied to the doorknob; and it had proved really the beginning of their dull little courtship. “Poor Jerome,” she thought, “would have to do the conventional thing. Such magnificence as orchids....”
King held out his arms romantically, and she ran to him. His look was at once dazzling and tender.
“Give me a kiss, little girl!”