"Come with you?"
"Yes. Have a bit of fun, you know. We'd have a rare time." He was down at his boots again. "And everything just as you like, honour bright, Winnie, till—till you saw what you wanted, don't you know?"
Winnie sat quite still for a few moments. She looked at Bob Purnett with an inquiring glance. He was a very good fellow. That she knew. Was he quite sane? He was certainly funny—so funny that indignation refused to adorn the situation. Slowly a smile bent the lines of her mouth. Here was a pretty contrast to Dick Dennehy's heartfelt appeal to her to 'take care of herself'; and not less to Bertie Merriam's respectfully cautious attentions. Aye, and to Mrs. Lenoir's schemes! She was aware that Bob had never grasped the true significance of her action in regard to Godfrey Ledstone. But to think that he had missed it so tremendously as this! And there were the trunks packed, not for Monte Carlo, but for Madeira—trunks redolent of respectability. She might be amused, but her amusement could not be devoid of malice; she might smile, but Bob must suffer—well, just a little, anyhow. She looked up at him, smiling still in treacherous amiability.
"Is this a proposal of marriage, Bob?" she asked.
He flushed. "Well—er—you can't marry, can you, Winnie?"
"Not at the moment. But I can in a little more than six months. Would you and Monte Carlo wait for me?"
"In a little more than——? What, is Maxon——?"
"Yes, he is—very soon now."
"You never told me!"
"Up to now, I had no reason to suppose you were interested."