“I am drawing it tight. It’s smaller than you are. You can’t wear it.”
Juliet laughed again. Anthony tugged.
“Wait till I hold my breath,” she said.
“Great guns!” he ejaculated, and by the exertion of much force fastened the girdle. Then he stood off a step or two and looked at his wife curiously. Flushed and laughing she returned his gaze.
“Can you breathe?” he asked solicitously.
“Of course I can.”
“What with?”
“It is a little tight, of course,” she admitted. “This is one of my trousseau dresses. I’ve grown a little stouter, I suppose. Never mind, I can stand it for to-night. Thank you very much. You must hurry now, Tony.”
“I haven’t had my pay for playing maid,” he said, and came close. He surveyed his wife’s fair neck and shoulders, turned her around and deliberately kissed the soft hollow where the firm white flesh of her neck met the waving brown hair drawn lightly upwards.
“That’s the spot that tantalized me for about six years,” he observed.