"Listen, my boy," he said, clamorously, "when you marry, get a good stupid dray horse like my dame. One that'll believe in you even if God Almighty's against you. A good plodding dray horse. That's the best recipe I know for marital felicity."
In an explosion of repellent laughter he roared out his self-applause.
"You know as much about women as about this tunic I'm cutting out," said Cornelia, rebuking him mildly with her voice, but not at all with her eye.
"Well, Corny," said Hutchins, in high excitement, "I'll tell you what I do know about them." He rose from the lounge and dumped himself amorously on one of the arms of her easy chair. "There are only three things a man need do to make a hit with women: give 'em food, give 'em clothes, give 'em hugs. It's a sure-fire rule for managing them, too."
He roared louder than ever. Robert wished Cornelia wouldn't encourage him under a pretense of doing the reverse.
"Now, Hutch, go home, please," she said, prompted by his silent disapproval. "You'll wake up all the neighbors with your loud laughter. Remember, the walls here are as thin as cardboard."
By way of answer, the irrepressible roisterer put his arm familiarly around her waist and tried to draw her back into the chair.
"Be human, Corny, old girl," he said. "Don't be a psychic adventuress. I've got to stay somewhere tonight, and I might as well stay here."
Cornelia wrenched herself from his grasp and, opening the outer door with a tempestuous gesture, told him to leave at once.
"You'd better go, Hutchins," said Robert, quietly. "Cornelia will be more than a match for you."