“It's perfectly all right,” said the waiter, rubbing himself down. Carried away by her own eloquence, Dottie had made a wildly expansive gesture right across his path. He'd gone straight into it before he could stop, with disastrous consequences to the artistic creation in his hands.

A wail from behind him indicated that the chef had arrived on the scene, and it wasn't all right with him. “My masterpiece,” he moaned, regarding the mess on the floor.

“I shall naturally pay for any damage,” Randolph declared with a touch of loftiness. It was maddening to have this interruption when he was getting a glimpse into Dottie's mind, even though what he found there made him deeply apprehensive.

“Damage? Damage?” shrilled the chef. “It took me an hour to get it perfect. Do you really think that you can-?”

“I never think,” Dottie said penitently. “Oh, I'm so sorry. How could you ever forgive me?”

She'd risen from the table and taken the chef's hands in hers, smiling up into his eyes. He was a foot taller, so that Randolph was able to see straight over Dottie's head, and observe the precise effect she was having on the man. From avenging angel to trembling jelly in three seconds flat, he thought in admiration. The chef was almost burbling, assuring her that there would be no further trouble, she wasn't to worry herself…

“That was very clever,” he said when they were alone again. “How long did it take you to perfect it?”

“Hey, c'mon, I wasn't being cynical.” Her tone suggested a crime.

“Be fair. You were just boasting about how you could reduce Mike to a quivering wreck any time you liked-”

“I was not boasting,” she said firmly. “Mike loves me, which is why it works.”

“With him, maybe, but what about the others? 'A smile usually does it,' is what you said. You knew exactly what you were up to just then, Dottie.”