“On the launch.”
For an instant Freda sipped from her glass, reflectively.
“You probably think I’m afraid to take you up on that, Ted,” she said very calmly. “But you’re wrong Go and get your launch and I’ll be waiting for you on the steps of our boathouse.”
Courtney smoked quietly a moment without speaking. As he rose, stretched himself, and walked toward his roadster, Freda sat watching him. Not until he had driven to the gate did she move a muscle. Then, with a short, spasmodic sigh, she rose from the hammock and entered the house. She had donned a sweater and a coat and was just coming out again to the verandah, when her mother’s step was heard crunching the pebble path.
“Where are you going?” she asked, as she came up.
“For a breeze up the river,” Freda said, ill-temperedly.
“With whom?”
“Ted Courtney.”
“Well, are you aware of the time?”
“No, not very much.”