"Sure thing!" he said, cordially, laying aside palette and brushes.
"Come on, Miss West, and we'll have luncheon."
She hastily swathed herself in the wool robe.
"Do you mean—here?"
"Yes. There's a dumb-waiter. I'll ring for the card."
"I'd like to," she said, "but do you think I had better?"
"Why not?"
"You mean—take lunch with you?"
"Why not?"
"Is it customary?"
"No, it isn't."