"I thought," she said, "that you'd never come. I thought you weren't looking."
"You owe me," he told her solemnly, "six solid weeks of my life. I've done nothing since you left."
"When a month went by," she owned up, "and you hadn't come, I—I took your picture off my bureau."
"Where'd you put it?" he asks, stern.
She laughed out, kind of light and joyous.
"In my hand-bag," says she.
Then they were still a minute.
"Walk right to the left, and left your things right on my bed...." I heard myself saying over, crazy, to some folks. But then of course you always do expect your hostess to be more or less crazy-headed, and nobody thought anything of it, I guess.
They came out in just a minute, and we went down the stairs together. And on the way down he says to her: