"Exactly," he said. His eyes were upon her, so eager as to be devouring. "You know, I'm most awfully glad you could come to-night. I've got all sorts of things to tell you."
"I wish," murmured Patricia, "I wish you'd tell me why men have to leave their overcoats at the door of a restaurant."
His voice was lowered. His eyes roved for an instant.
"It's so that they can cut a figure," he explained. "A man in his overcoat—oh, a sorry sight. A woman—it's so different. She's got to keep her shoulders warm. She's got to show her furs to everybody. By the way, where are yours?"
Patricia regretfully shook her head.
"You have to imagine them," she ventured.
"They're the finest here," Harry assured her. "It's all simply a question of decoration. And also, no doubt, of tips. You see, a woman is entertained."
"I never understand why that is," cried Patricia. "I'd far rather always pay for myself. I do, as a rule."
"Not with me," said Harry, with a sudden firmness which she admired. "You don't want to with me, do you?" He was confident; but he spoke truly. She had no will to flout him.