“Oh dear, oh dear! It's too wonderful to believe, you angel!”
And then for the first time she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him and hugged him, knelt on his lap and clasped him fiercely.
He felt as if a simoom of rapture had struck him, and when she told him a dozen times that she loved him he could think of nothing to say but, “Say, this is great!”
She forgave him the banality this time. When she had calmed herself a little she said:
“But it would mean a frightful lot of money.”
“Whatever it costs, it's cheap—considering this.” He indicated her arm about his neck. “I wouldn't let the world be robbed of the pictures of you, Anita, not for any money.” He told her to tell Ferriday to make the arrangements and send the estimates to him. And he said, “I won't ask you to quit being photographed, even when we are married.”
“When we are married?” Kedzie parroted.
“Of course! That's where we're bound for, isn't it? Where else could we pull up—that is, of course, assuming that you'll do me the honor of anchoring a great artist like you up to a big dub like me. Will you?”
“Why—why—I'd like to think it over; this is so sudden.”
“Of course, you'd better think it over, you poor angel!”