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“I’m curious to know the commercial value of a sunset in New York,” Gail smiled up at him. Her eyes closed for a swift instant, her long, brown lashes curving down on her cheeks, but beneath them was an infinitesimal gleam; and Allison had the impression that under the cover of her exquisitely veined lids she was looking at him corner-wise, and having a great deal of fun all by herself.

“We haven’t capitalised sunsets yet, but we have hopes,” he laughed.

“Then there’s still a commercial opportunity,” she lightly returned. “I feel quite friendly to money, but it’s so intimate here. I’ve heard nothing else since I came, on Monday.”

“Even in church,” he chuckled. “You delivered a reckless shock to the Reverend Smith Boyd’s vestry.”

“Well?” she demanded. “Didn’t he ask my opinion?”

“I don’t think he’ll make the mistake again,” and Allison took the corner into the Avenue at a speed which made Gail, unused to bare inches of leeway, class Allison as a demon driver. The tall traffic policeman around whose upraised arm they had circled smiled a frank tribute to her beauty, and she felt relieved. She had cherished some feeling that they should be arrested.