“Say, you little squirrel! You’d make some sailor. It’s hungry I’ve been for sight of you. I met Gene in town this afternoon and he told me about the wonderful stunt you pulled off this morning for Francis.”
“That was nothing. But—have you come back, Jo?”
“Not yet. I’m motoring in from town and left my car down in the road. I just thought I’d pass by your window and let out a whistle for you.”
“Jo, I came down to say something serious—”
“You can say anything you like to me, Miss Penny Ante,” he replied encouragingly.
“Come away where no one can overhear our voices.”
They strolled away out of the moonlight to the shelter of some shrubbery where they talked long and earnestly. On the way back to the house, Pen, lifting her eyes to his, was struck by the look in his boyish face.
“Jo,” she said, a slight wistfulness in her tone, “you really love—the way a woman loves.”
“What’s the use,” he said defiantly, “if the one I love won’t have me—she—”
He stopped short and looked at her keenly.