“Hello, Frances,” said Cohn. He smiled.
“Why, hello, Robert. Are you here?” She went on, talking rapidly. “I’ve had the darndest time. This one”—shaking her head at Cohn—“didn’t come home for lunch.”
“I wasn’t supposed to.”
“Oh, I know. But you didn’t say anything about it to the cook. Then I had a date myself, and Paula wasn’t at her office. I went to the Ritz and waited for her, and she never came, and of course I didn’t have enough money to lunch at the Ritz——”
“What did you do?”
“Oh, went out, of course.” She spoke in a sort of imitation joyful manner. “I always keep my appointments. No one keeps theirs, nowadays. I ought to know better. How are you, Jake, anyway?”
“Fine.”
“That was a fine girl you had at the dance, and then went off with that Brett one.”
“Don’t you like her?” Cohn asked.
“I think she’s perfectly charming. Don’t you?”