“Are you prepared to be thrilled?” he asked her, as she seated herself.
“Listen, I’m a hard-boiled egg from Hell’s Kitchen, and I don’t thrill so easy,” she answered, with the impudent desire to shatter his smiling condescension.
“Well, well, little tough Annie from behind the gas works,” he said. “How did you manage to stuff your boxing gloves into that vanity case?”
“Don’t need them—bare knuckles where I come from,” she retorted, smiling back at him.
“Stop it, Ben, you’ve met your match this time,” Oppendorf called out from the armchair where he was pensively eying a tiny glass of gin held in his right hand. “The awkward fighter can always beat the clever one if he stands and waits for Sir Cleverness to rush him.”
“Oppie always instructs me—he can’t bear the thought of my being vanquished,” Helgin replied, lightly.
“Well, I don’t know, I have managed to bear it now and then,” Oppendorf said, before swallowing the gin.
“Didn’t both of you promise me not to be sarcastic for one night?” Margaret asked, as she entered the studio. “If I had the muscle, why, I’d spank the two of you!”
“Start with Ben—it might change his entire life,” Oppendorf said, grinning.
“Oh, you’re not so sweet-tempered yourself,” she replied, as she pinched his cheek.