He pressed a button, and the room sprang into more light, coming out pinkly and vividly—the brocaded walls pliant to touch with every so often a gilt-framed engraving; a gilt table with an onyx top cheerfully cluttered with the sauciest short-story magazines of the month; a white mantelpiece with an artificial hearth and a pink-and-gilt chaise-longue piled high with small, lacy pillows, and a very green magazine open and face downward on the floor beside it.
"Comin' better, honeybunch?"
"I dunno, Babe. The town's mad with money, but I don't feel myself going crazy with any of it."
"What ud you bring us, honey?"
He slid out of his silk-lined greatcoat, placing his brown derby atop.
"Three guesses, Babe," he said, rubbing his cold hands in a dry wash, and smiling from five feet eleven of sartorial accomplishment down upon her.
"Honey darlin'!" said Mrs. Connors, standing erect and placing her cheek against the third button of his waistcoat.
"Wow! how I love the woman!" he cried, closing his hands softly about her throat and tilting her head backward again.
"Darlin', you hurt!"
"Br-r-r—can't help it!"