wrist watch. But when she reached home it was ten minutes past three.
It was heavenly to flop down on the Chinese-pagoda sofa with an armful of literature—the new Cosmopolitan, the new Vogue—there was a picture of Ralph at the races, with that Ludlow girl with the fat legs, and Rene de Villiers—a new movie magazine, some French novels Ralph had sent. Joe found her there when he came home. She pulled him down to her, nearly strangling him.
"Joe, darling, I've missed you so—the day lasted forever! Only I thought it was about four, and it's half past six! Golly! I haven't started to get supper"
"Didn't the new girl show up?"
"Not a sign of her."
"Hard luck! Did the laundry come back?"
"I guess so—I haven't been out in the kitchen. Why?"
"I wanted to change my shirt, and I haven't any with buttons. Do you suppose you could put one or two on for me? If I could just have the top ones. I don't ask for them all the way down, just the top?"
"Why don't you leave them out? I always tell you to leave them out."
"I do; they're out all over the place."
"Well, of course I'll sew them on, only they don't seem to stay. Joe"
"Hello!"
