A genuinely comic situation develops when Paul Trescott, a debonaire publisher used to the adulation of ladies, becomes infatuated with a new author many years younger than himself. He prides himself for having found at last the essence of innocence in this young girl - despite the fact that her first and best-selling novel is such a sizzler that it is bound in asbestos. But the girl's agent, a sophisticated woman of the world, whom Trescott has too long taken for granted, is determined not to give him up for anyone. To knock the young author off her pedestal of innocence, she invites the girl's strange roommate to Trescott's home for the climatic week-end. Strange is hardly the word; roomie is downright weird, and will rhapsodize in pentameters at the most awkward moments. In the wild whirligig that ensues. Trescott comes to understand that the true meanings of love, and you can bet that everybody's happier for that.