“Oh, thanks!”
“Even distinguished—that foreign way of wearing your mustache is really quite fetching. You’ll do, I think, with some coaching.”
“Will you coach me?”
“I object,” interrupted Crabb, lazily.
“I will. You’re quite worth marrying—I’m at least sure you wouldn’t condemn your wife to her own lares and penates.”
“Not I. She’d get the wanderlust—or a divorce.”
“Don’t boast, worse vagabonds than you have been tamed—come now, what shall she be—blonde or brunette?”
Burnett shrugged his shoulders. “I’m quite indifferent—pigment is cheap nowadays.”
“Now you’re scoffing.”
Ross Burnett leaned back in his chair and smiled at the chandelier. Women had long ago been omitted from his list of possibilities. But Patricia was not to be denied.