“You do? Why, I should say that the woman who gets him is about the luckiest person in the world.”
He looked at her piercingly. “How long did you say you’ve knowed him?” he inquired.
“I didn’t say—but there’s no harm in telling you, I suppose.” She began counting on her fingers. “Nine days, Mr. Sikes.”
“It takes him just about that long,” was his cryptic rejoinder.
She laughed merrily. “Do they fall for him as easily as all that?”
“The married ones do,” said he darkly and daringly.
“Oh, that lets me out,” she said. “You see, I’m not married, Mr. Sikes.”
“Excuse me, I thought he said Missus,” floundered Mr. Sikes, a trifle dashed.
“He did. I am Mrs. Flame.”
“Er—ahem! Oh, I see. Widow.”