“Of course there is a room like that, dearest and best. A room that will just suit you. Its walls are painted a soft yellow. The chintzes are gay, and the sun pours in at the windows all day long. With it goes a white tiled bathroom of impeccable respectability.”
They laughed gayly. She sat up and clapped her hands.
“Just what I want. The chaste, white tiles of the great American middle classes are good enough for me. I will get up immediately and dress, and then you can help me move my things.”
He looked at her with passionate protest. “Must you dress?”
“Of course!” She slipped a slim white leg out of the bed and pulled the sheer black negligee down over it quickly.
With the swiftness of a hawk, he swooped down upon her foot and kissed it. His lips brushed across the curving instep, the adorable little hollow of the arch. Then he placed it upon his head with a flourish. “A slave passes beneath the triumphal arch, oh Queen!”
“Stop it this minute! You are tickling me, monster!”
She drew her foot put of the curly hair with a slight shiver, only to have him snatch it once more to his lips.
“What makes your heel so pink? Do you rouge it?” He looked up at her with an impertinent grin.
A twinkle in her eye, she shook her head vigorously. “Of course not.”