Estridge went directly to a telephone booth, and presently got his connection.
“It’s John Estridge, as usual,” he said in a bantering tone. “How are you, Ilse?”
“John! I’m so glad you called me! Thank you so much for the roses! They’re exquisite!––matchless!–––”
“Not at all!”
“What?”
“If you think they’re matchless, just hold one up 166 beside your cheek and take a slant at your mirror.”
“I thought you were not going to say such things to me!”
“I thought I wasn’t.”
“Are you alone?” She laughed happily. “Where are you, Jack?”