“He’s a duck,” said Mornice, “and I love him.”
“I think you love everyone except me.”
“Darling,” she exclaimed with outstretched arms, “I love you to distraction. Without you the world would be a desert track, or tract, whichever it is.”
“Then for God’s sake give me a kiss!”
Mornice considered the proposition in pouting perplexity. Then she laughed and said:
“Don’t be such a stupid little fool, Ken.”
“You always say that when I come to the point.”
“Avoid the point then, darling, and you won’t get your pretty little puds pricked.”
“Look here, will you come out to lunch with me?”
“Will I—will I? No. I won’t, but I’ll come to tea instead, and pay my own share.”