Then they went, with a flutter of silk stockings and twinkling slipper
buckles, and a medley of shrieked goodbys.

Warble and Petticoat reached home.

"Howja like 'em?" he asked.

"I'm so hungry," she wailed.

"Oh, Warble, you ought to be more careful about eating in public. It isn't
done. Watch Iva Payne--she doesn't."

"Oh, Bill--" Warble began to cry. "I want to go back to the restaurant--"

"No, no--now, Cream Puff, I didn't mean to lambaste you. But they're a
smart crowd--"

Warble let two tears rest, glistening, in her lower eyelashes, rolled up
her eyes, pulled down the corners of her hibiscus flower mouth, and waited
to be kissed.

She was.

* * * * *

Up in Bill's bedroom. Gray silken walls, smoked pearl furniture,
a built-in English bed, with gray draperies.

Through a cloth of silver portiere, a bathroom done in gray rough stone.