"No one ever made love to suit me, somehow—men are queer—they're so blind—they seem to know so little about the things that mean a lot to a woman." She shivered. "It's getting chilly, isn't it. I'm cold."
"Shall I get you a wrap?"
She took his arm and placed it about her shoulder. "That'll do," she said.
"Fancy, you are adorable—you're absolutely complete. You're unique—you're a nonpareille!"
"I'd rather be a peach," she confessed, snuggling closer.
"You are, Fancy—a clingstone! I'd like to kiss you to death."
"Now, that's the stuff!"
"I'm sorry you don't appreciate my compliments," he remarked, after this little episode.
"I'm afraid I don't. I'm sorry I'm not intellectual, Blan, but I'd rather have you call me a 'damn fool' if you said it lovingly, than have you say pretty things I can't understand."
"All right, then, you're a damn fool!"