Miss St. Claire sat back against her chair; her black eyes had quieted.
"If you ain't kidding you must be crazy with the heat or dr—"
"Look at my glass. Have I touched it?"
"The man's raving, Syl! Wants to marry me and take me back to St. Louis,
Thursday."
"Cut the comedy and come! Herm, it's getting on to three in the morning."
"This little girl keeps thinking I'm kidding, Blondey. I always knew if I ever fell for matrimony it would be just like this. Right off the reel. No funny business. Just bing! Bang! Done!"
"Catch me while I swoon—but he sounds on the level, Cleone."
"Well, what if he is? Of all the nerve! Whatta you know about me? How do you know I haven't got three kids and a crippled husband at home? How do you know—?"
"I know, little Jingle Bells! Why, I was as sure of you, the minute I clapped eyes on you, as if we'd been raised next door to each other. I can see right down in your little life like it was this glass of wine."
Miss St. Claire threw out her arms in a beautiful and sleepy gesture.
"Well, boys, this is a nice little party, but I got to get up at three o'clock to-morrow afternoon, and I need the sleep. Oh, how I love my morning sleep!" She drew back, her bare outflung arm pushing her from the table. "If you'll call me and my room-mate a taxi—"