"I'll wait," said he.
But all the circumstances pointed to the probability of a new "touch," which did not add greatly to his appetite.
After his demi-tasse, Skinner said to Honey, "Come, Honey, spring it."
"Not till you 've got your cigar. I want you to be perfectly comfortable."
Skinner lighted up, leaned back in his chair, and affected—so far as he was able—the appearance of indulgent nonchalance.
"Shoot."
Honey leaned her elbows on the table, rested her chin in the little basket formed by her interlacing fingers, and looked at Dearie in a way that she knew to be particularly engaging and effective.
"I 've always wanted to do a certain thing," she began. "You have always been my first concern, but now—I want to do something very personal—very much for my own pleasure. Will you promise to let me do it?"
"You bet I will," said Skinner; "nothing's too good for you!"
Skinner was genuinely and enthusiastically generous. Also, it would be a good scheme to indulge Honey, since he might have to ask her indulgence later on.