Campaspe smiled. What abominable taste Cupid has in women, she remarked. He looks like an olive on a holiday. Then: I think we'd better start back. We've had our adventure.
What about dinner? asked John Armstrong.
We'll stop somewhere else for that.
Why not go back to the apartment? Paul suggested. Ki can run out for some cold cuts and a salad.
Kalter Aufschnitt! Just the thing! cried Campaspe, delighted, and no danger of seeing vulgar people!
Can he get some ham? Zimbule demanded hopefully.
Yes, and you will be ready to eat it then.
For the drive back, certain rearrangements of position were effected. Bunny attempted to slip into the back seat beside Zimbule, but, with some dexterity, Campaspe pushed John Armstrong between herself and the girl, and, as Harold and Paul already occupied the strapontins, Bunny was forced to take the seat by the chauffeur. He sulked. Harold was feeling altogether confused and uncomfortable. Paul was highly amused.
Zimbule now seemed as strong as a young ox, as alert as a wren searching for worms. She had completely forgone her momentary distrust, and was behaving as only a young animal, bereft of self-consciousness, can behave. In the restaurant, she and Bunny, from their positions of propinquity, had
