"Satisfied now, Mr. Smarty?" she said, smiling at eight reflections of herself and swaying to the rippling flute notes and violin phrases that wandered out to meet them.
"You're all right, sweetness!"
Within the Sheban elegance of the overlighted, overheated, overgilded dining and dance hall his pressure of her arm tightened and the blood ran in her veins a searing flame.
"Gee! Look at the jam, Joe!"
"Over there's a table for two, sweet—right under them green lights."
"Say, whatta you know about that? There's that same blonde girl, Joe, we been seein' everywhere. Honest, she follows us round every place we go—her and that fellow that was dancing up at the Crescent last night—remember?"
They drew up before a marble-topped table, one of a phalanx that flanked a wide-open space of hard-wood floor, like coping round a sunken pool; and his eyes took a rapid résumé of the polyphonic room.
"Good crowd out to-night, sweetness. They all know us, too."
"Yes."
"Wanna dance and show 'em we're in condition?"