"Everything." Toffee said spaciously. "On the town." "Haven't you had enough excitement?" Marc asked wearily. "Not of the right sort," Toffee said. "What I crave is soft lights and wine and all that sort of elegant truck. Come on." "What about George?" "Oh, yes," Toffee reflected, "there is George, isn't there?" She regarded the transfixed half-spirit thoughtfully. "It would serve him right if we just left him here, cut off at the pockets. Still I don't suppose it's the thing to do...." A look of inspiration came to her face. "I know." Taking her gadget from beneath her arm, she levelled it at George and pressed the button. Instantly George disappeared entirely. Toffee replaced the instrument and turned to Marc. "There," she said brightly. "George in the handy pocket size, where he can't do any harm. Now we're all set for a life of gin and sin, and no interruptions." "Now, wait a minute!" Marc said. "We're not set for anything, much less a life of gin and sin as you so pungently put it. Do I have to remind you that I have a wife to think of?" "I don't care if you have a whole regiment of wives to think of," Toffee said testily. "I've protected and preserved you and, by gum, you're mine. At least right now. Your wife can just take her chances on what's left." "If you continue with this scandalous talk," Marc said, shocked into primness, "I'm going to be forced to get up and walk right out of here." "You take one step without me," Toffee warned, "and I'll break both your legs." "Oh, well...." Marc sighed. "That's better," Toffee nodded. "Of course I'll need some clothes, something terribly expensive and revealing...." * * * * * She broke off as the doors of the courtroom burst open and Julie, followed by the three doctors from the hospital, charged down the aisle. "My God!" Marc cried. "Julie!" He swung around to Toffee. "Go away! Vanish!" "I'm darned if I will," Toffee said. "I've stuck by you through all the thin and now I want some of the thick of it." "Don't worry," Marc said miserably. "Just wait till Julie sees us; things will get thick in a hurry." Even as Marc spoke the atmosphere began to congeal swiftly. Julie, having caught sight of the curious tableau formed by Marc and the scantily clad Toffee, jarred to a stop, digging her heels into the floor. A sharp, enraged sound came from her lips. Julie, after her experience of the night before had recovered her physical faculties, but her emotional condition was still skittish. A wife, summoned to identify her dying husband, rather sets her mind on a scene of tearful sighs and murmured remembrances, with perhaps a touch of violin music in the background. When she finds her waning spouse looking perfectly alive and perky and in close proximity to a dangerous looking redhead, her bubble has a tendency to burst with a considerable bang.