“Somehow I never thought that was my style. And color makes me look paler than ever.”
“That’s easily remedied. Plenty of good food, fresh air, sleep, and no worry.”
Claire’s smile was a trifle rueful. “Haven’t I heard that prescription before, Dr. Elliott?” she inquired somewhat dryly.
His brilliant teeth flashed out from out the dark face.
“I’ll admit it’s a bromide. But just to prove I’m not an old fogey, I’ll give you a prescription after lunch which will work wonders before your very eyes. No—it’s not a flask.” He laughed as her puzzled gaze rested upon his hip pocket. “Although I’ve been known to recommend that at times. And now, how about some ice-cream?”
Claire shook her head decidedly.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t, Dr. Elliot. I feel like a Strassbourg goose, as it is.”
“About as crowded as the corner of Fifth Avenue and 42d Street? Well, I won’t insist. You’ve been a pretty good little lady. But remember, no tea, no coffee, no chicken patties when I’m not around. Beefsteak, baked potatoes, spinach, etc. Is it a promise?” He held out a solemn hand across the table.
“Yes,” she placed her fingers in his somewhat timidly. “I promise. And now how about the prescription?”
He released her and rising to his feet helped her on with her coat, a long, expensive moleskin, which accentuated the slight sallowness of her complexion.