"Quite Darby and Joan we look...." said Loring, with a nervous laugh. Sophy smiled, but this smile was enigmatic.
"Why didn't you write to me? Why didn't you tell me you were coming, Morris?" she asked gently.
"Oh ... well...." said Loring.
He went red, and fussed with a piece of cedar that had fallen on the hearth. The fragrant smoke got into his eyes—and made them smart.
"You see...." he went on with more assurance, as he hammered the log into place again, "I knew this was the sort of thing that would have to be talked out...."
"Well, then...?" said Sophy.
He glanced at her rather sheepishly.
"Oh, hang it all, Sophy!" he said. "Don't make it too hard. What do you want?... Probation?... Kow-towing? What?"
"No. I don't want anything like that, Morris. What I want is for us both to act like good, sensible friends, and...."
"Friends!" he exclaimed.