"I—won't, Leon."
Sotto voce to her: "Remember, Esther, while I'm gone, the royalties from the discaphone records are yours. I want you to have them for pin-money and—maybe a dowry?"
She turned from him. "Don't, Leon—don't—"
"I like him! Nice fellow, but too slow! Why, if I were in his shoes I'd have popped long ago."
She smiled with her lashes dewy.
There entered then, in a violet-scented little whirl, Miss Gina Berg, rosy with the sting of a winter's night, and, as usual, swathed in the high-napped furs.
"Gina!"
She was for greeting every one, a wafted kiss to Mrs. Kantor, and then, arms wide, a great bunch of violets in one outstretched hand, her glance straight, sure, and sparkling for Leon Kantor.
"Surprise—everybody—surprise!"
"Why, Gina—we read—we thought you were singing in Philadelphia to-night!"