Pat glowered. "Oh, you go to hell," she snapped. "No man would ever want to kiss you. You—you dead fish."
Dee laughed. "Wouldn't they? I wish they didn't. It's a rotten nuisance."
Pat's ill humour vanished in interest. "You are a queer one," she said. "How does Jimmieson James like your views?"
Dee shrugged her slim, clean-muscled shoulders. "He dangles along."
"Better haul him in before he wriggles off the hook," advised the worldly Pat. "Come on down and show me the new suitor."
"Do your own butting-in," yawned Dee. "I won't."
"Oh, verra-well! Here's trying."
Finesse did not mark Pat's irruption upon the solitude à deux in the library.
"'Lo, Con," was her opening. "Seen T. T. around here?"