"Thanks," said Nicholas, and sat down, not caring to, but with good enough grace. He wanted his coat, somehow, and fell to strumming the table top.
"Don't, Nicky; you make me nervous."
"Here," said Miss Berkowitz, and gave him a cracker and a handful of nuts. The little crashings resumed.
Ada had very fair skin against dark hair, slightly too inclined to curl. There was quite a creamy depth to her—a wee pinch could raise a bruise. The kind of whiteness hers that challenged the string of tiny Oriental pearls she wore at her throat. Her healthily pink cheeks and her little round bosom were plump, and across the back of each of her hands were four dimples that flashed in and out as she bore down on the cracker. She was as clear as a mountain stream.
"A trifle too plumpy," he thought, but just the same wished he had wet his military brushes.
"Ada has just been telling me, Nicky, about her ambition to be an interior decorator for the insides of houses. I think it is grand the way some girls that are used to the best of everything prepare themselves for, God forbid, they should ever have to make their own livings. I give them credit for it. Tell Nicky, Ada, about the drawing you did last week that your teacher showed to the class."
"Oh," said Ada, blushing softly, "Mr. Turkletaub isn't interested in that."
"Yes, I am," said Nicholas, politely, eating one of the meats.
"You mean the Tudor dining room—"
No, no! You know, the blue-and-white one you said you liked best of all."