She flushed a faint peach color. "I thought you were going to guess I wanted to go Dutch."
"I know you did."
"How?"
"I know how women think, as they term it."
"You're right, though."
I picked up her check and signed it and signed my own and signed the two sets of bar checks and gave Fred—who was loitering about in the background with overt patience—a sound tip.
"Buy yourself," I said to her, "some dandy flowers. I like gardenias. I hate orchid-colored orchids. On second thought, if flowers remind you of Roland—"
"He never grew them to wear—or for bouquets. Just to breed."
"See you. And thanks for the indiscreet lunch."