"Listen, Gretchen"—he sat down at the end of the sofa—"beginning with to-night I'm going to—What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I'm just looking for a cigarette. Go on."
She tiptoed breathlessly back to the sofa and settled at the other end.
"Gretchen—" Again he broke off. Her hand, palm upward, was extended toward him. "Well, what is it?" he asked wildly.
"Matches."
"What?"
In his impatience it seemed incredible that she should ask for matches, but he fumbled automatically in his pocket.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. Go on."
"Gretch——"
Scratch! The match flared. They exchanged a tense look.