Again, she tried to lead--to change her mind--to demur--to say she
wasn't hungry--then to consider the cold roast beef.
"You'll like it," I said. If she had insisted, I'd have let her order
for herself. But she didn't want anything in particular to eat. She
wanted to see what happened to her slight, vain whims. So I ignored
them.
"You can have another Martini."
"I guess I must?"
"Sure. Must. Dinner will take a few minutes and we won't dance again
till after."
"You're terribly positive."
"Nonsense," I said. "You're used to men who have been beaten to death
by women before you got hold of them."