She recoiled as if he had struck her and buried her face in her arms on the table. Her shoulders shook convulsively. "Oh, I didn't want to graft, Gay, don't think that! That's not what I called you up for, really it isn't!"
"What was it, then?" he asked, growing a little more genial.
The waiter appeared with two glasses on a tray and set them down on the table. Fancy looked up and wiped her eyes. When they were alone again he said, "Fire away, now. I've got a date at ten. I'm sorry I said that, but I didn't know but you were hard up, that's all."
"Gay," she said, "do you remember what you said that day we went down to Champoreau's the first time?"
"I believe I said all that crowd had the big head, didn't I?"
"That isn't it, Gay. I wonder if you've forgotten already?"
"I guess I have. Lots of things have happened since that." He blew a lung-full of smoke into the air over her head.
"You've said it several times since then. Do you happen to remember asking me to marry you?"
"I believe I did make a break like that, now you speak of it. And you threw me down good and hard, too."
She got his eyes, and smiled. "You said that—whenever I changed my mind and gave the word—you'd marry me."