I must get something right away, I suppose." "Yes, indeed," declared Bertram, with emphasis, hurrying his wife into the waiting automobile.
Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for the curtain had already risen on the ancient quarrel between the houses of Capulet and Montague, and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence of tardy arrivals.
Later, though, when well established in their seats, Billy's mind was plainly not with the players on the stage.
"Do you suppose Baby _is_ all right ?" she whispered, after a time.
"Sh-h! Of course he is, dear!" There was a brief silence, during which Billy peered at her program in the semi-darkness.

Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically.
"Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better play if I'd tried.

There are _five_ acts! I'd forgotten there were so many.

That means you can telephone four times!" "Yes, dear." Bertram's voice was sternly cheerful.
"You must be sure they tell you exactly how Baby is." "All right, dear.

Sh-h! Here's Romeo." Billy subsided.