“Won’t you need them?”
“Sunburst of my soul, if I pillow my head on anything while you are in the vicinity, it will be on that olive-wood box!”
For the first time the faintest trace of a smile touched her lips. She turned, settled the pillows to her liking, and stretched out her supple figure on the sofa with a slight sigh.
“Shall I talk to you, Scheherazade, or let you snuggle into the chaste arms of Morpheus?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Is it a talk-fest, then?”
“I am listening.”
“Then, were the two recent gentlemen who so rudely pounced upon me the same gentlemen who so cheerfully chased me in an automobile when you made red fire?”
“Yes.”
“I was betting on it. Nice-looking man—the one with the classical map and the golden Frick.”