"Who'd believe I was a widow—in this profession?"
Freddy still looked blank.
"Well," said Florette, "you're goin' to get a nice papa, so there now!"
Then the cruel truth dawned on Freddy. It was Florette who wanted a papa. He had not been enough for her. In some way Florette had found him lacking.
Tactfully, Freddy dropped the subject of papas, wooed Florette, and tried to atone for his shortcomings. He redoubled his compliments, trotted out all the love words he knew, coaxed Florette with everything she liked best in him. He even offered to have his nails filed. At night, in bed, he kissed Florette's bare back between the shoulder blades, and snuggled close to her, hugging her desperately with his little thin arms.
"Flo," he quavered, "you—you ain't lonesome no more, are you?"
"Me? Lonesome? Whatcher talkin' about, kid?" sleepily murmured
Florette.
"You ain't never lonesome when you got me around, are you, Flo?"
"Sure I ain't. Go to sleep, honey."
"But, Florette——"