"You will do nothing of the kind, O Scheherazade! Not, at least, until you have had something to eat. Ah, we will go to the Gildersleeve, where we first met, or at least first talked. Come, your hat and wraps, no delay."
He assisted her into her long cloak, and laid her furs about her shoulders.
"How can I pin on my hat," she asked desperately, "when you—"
"Yes? When I?" he said encouragingly. "Why are you blushing?"
"Nobody can properly pin on a hat when some one is kissing her," she protested.
"I am from Missouri," he replied. "You must show me. In other words, I doubt the assertion. Now, to prove it, you try to pin on your hat and I will endeavor to kiss you at the same time."
"You will do nothing of the kind," she insisted. "You will go and stand on the other side of the room. Ah—"
There was no room for further argument, the door was thrown open and Ydo, brilliant, laughing, gorgeous as a tropical flower, entered. Behind her loomed Wilfred Ames with all the radiance it was possible for his stolidity to express.
"Here!" cried Ydo, the music of her laughter filling the room as her eyes fell on Marcia. "Ah, I knew it! What did I tell you?" turning to Hayden.
"What do you mean?" cried Marcia, startled, flushing.