"Don't be silly. I'm telephoning for some one else."
"That's exactly what we can't permit. The 'some one else' is here—I'm it."
"No, no!"
He closed one eye and wagged his head, grasping the instrument more firmly.
"Promise to tell him—It IS a 'him,' isn't it? Aha' My intelligence is sublime. Promise."
"I slapped you last night; I promise to do it again," Lorelei told him, sharply.
"Something whispered that you did, and all day long I have been angry; but to-night—now that I'm in my natural condition—I pass the insult. I offer you my hand and my other cheek in case you want to try a left hook. But I come with another purpose. Outside is a chariot with ninety horses—French rating—champing at the throttle. We are going away from here."
"You're drunk again, Mr. Wharton?"
He glanced at the clock over Regan's head and shook his head in negation. "It's only ten-twenty. In two hours from now—"
"Give me that 'phone."