She even springs another one of them twisty smiles; but her head nods suggestive at the door. I expects I starts a grin; but one glimpse of Mr. Robert's face and it fades out. He wa'n't happy a bit. For a minute he stands there lookin' sort of dazed, as if he'd been hit with a lead pipe, and with his neck and ears tinted up like a raspb'rry sundae.
"Very well," says he, and does a slow exit, leavin' me gawpin' after him sympathetic.
Not for long, though. My turn came as soon as the latch was clicked.
"Now, Torchy," says she, chummy and encouragin', as she slips into an old-rose armchair and waves me towards another.
I'm still gazin' at the door, wonderin' if Mr. Robert has jumped down the elevator shaft or is takin' it out on the lever juggler.
"Ah, say, Miss Hampton!" says I. "Why throw the harpoon so hasty when he was doin' his best?"
"Was he?" says she. "Then his best isn't very wonderful, is it?"
"But you didn't give him a show," says I. "Course it was a dippy play of his, luggin' me along, as I warned him. Believe me, though, he meant all right. There ain't any more yellow in Mr. Robert than there is in my tie. Honest! Maybe he don't show up brilliant when he's talkin' to ladies; but I want to tell you he's about as good as they come."
"Indeed!" says she, widenin' her eyes and chucklin' easy. "That is what I should call an unreserved indorsement. But about the roses, now?"
Well, I sketched the plot of the piece all out for her, from findin' her miniature accidental in Mr. Robert's desk, to the day of the concert, when she got the bunch with his card tied to it.