"I want to see a great deal of you while I'm down here."
She did not reply, but drew her hand away with a shy diffidence.
"I'll bet I could show you some things that would warm you up all right. I'm goin' into New York with the swellest bunch of French novelties you ever seen. I've got a peach-colored Piquette model I've brought over that's goin' to be the talk of the town."
"A Piquette?"
He laughed delightedly. "Sure! You never heard of the firm? Wait till you see 'em on show at the openin'. It's got the new butterfly back; and, believe me, it wasn't no cinch to grab that pattern, neither. I laid low in Paris two months before I even got a smell at it."
"You talk just like a story-book," she said.
He stretched himself full length on the sand and looked up into her face. "I'll show you a thing or two when we get back to New York, little one."
"You ain't like most of the boys I know, Mr. Arnheim. You got something different about you."
"And you got a face like the kind you see painted on fans—on the order of a Japanese dame. I got some swell Japanese imports, too."
"Everybody says that about me. I take after paw."