"No, but I don't like it here. I don't like to be sitting here
with you."

Without another word Marcia signalled for the waiter.

"What's the check?" she demanded briskly "My part--the rabbit
and the ginger ale."

Horace watched blankly as the waiter figured it.

"See here," he began, "I intended to pay for yours too. You're
my guest."

With a half-sigh Marcia rose from the table and walked from the
room. Horace, his face a document in bewilderment, laid a bill
down and followed her out, up the stairs and into the lobby. He
overtook her in front of the elevator and they faced each other.

"See here," he repeated "You're my guest. Have I said something to
offend you?"

After an instant of wonder Marcia's eyes softened.

"You're a rude fella!" she said slowly. "Don't you know you're
rude?"

"I can't help it," said Horace with a directness she found quite
disarming. "You know I like you."