But he knew better than to do that. Gradually, the conversation became frivolous. Before she arrived home, Claire had not only promised to buy a new hat, but to buy it in his company.
“We will go to one of those places on 57th Street—you don’t care what you pay, do you? They’ll sting you, of course, but you’ll get something snappy. Then we’ll have lunch somewhere and if I can get off from the hospital, go to the matinée. How about it?”
Claire smiled happily. Then her expression became dubious. She was evidently screwing herself up to say something very difficult indeed.
“What’s the matter? Shoot,” said the doctor with twinkling eyes.
“Shoot? Oh, I see! Well, as a matter of fact, Dr. Elliott, I will go with you under one condition only.”
“Name it.”
“That you will allow me to pay my own way. I wouldn’t enjoy it otherwise.” Her eyes pleaded with him not to be offended.
He looked nonplussed for a moment, then nodded at her gravely.
“Very well, Mrs. Petrovskey, if it would make you happier, we’ll have it Dutch treat. But I’m not really quite as hard up as all that, you know.”
They had arrived at her apartment, and he was helping her out of the car with his usual impersonal courtesy.