"Darling, don't you see? It's fate knocking at our door. There's not a chance rover can get exemption. He ain't eve got a fifth cousin or a flat-foot!"
"Maybe he could claim exemption on dandruff."
"I'm serious, honey. It's going to be one of those cases where an understudy wakes up to find himself famous. I can't fail if I get this chance, Bloss. It's the moment I have been drudging for, for five solid years. I never was in such voice as now, I never was so fit. Not an ounce of fat. Not a song in the part I don't know backwards. I tell you it's the hand of fate, Bloss, giving us a hand-out. I can afford now, darling, to make good with you. On three fifty a week I can ask a little queen like you to double up with me. From thirty-five to three fifty! I tell you honey, we're made. I'm going to dress my little dolly in cloth of gold and silver fox. I'm going to perch her in the suite de luxe of the swellest hotel in town. I'm—"
She pushed back from the table, turning more broadly from him.
"Don't," she said pressing her kerchief against her lips.
"Why—why what's the matter, Bloss? Why—why, what's the matter?"
"Don't talk to me for a minute," she said, still in profile; "I'll be all right, only don't talk."
"Why, Bloss, you—sick?"
She shook her head. "No. No."
"You ain't getting cold feet now that we got the thing before us—in our hand?"