“Umm—mother—waffles and maple-syrup? Just what I feel like eating. Aren’t you going to have some?”
“No, indeed!” she laughed. “I’ve had my breakfast hours ago. It’s noon, dear, but I knew you were tired after last night, so I just let you sleep it out.”
“I’m glad you did; I feel thoroughly rested.”
She sat opposite him while he ate, enjoying the way he seemed to relish each mouthful.
“Now tell me all about the dance,” she said. “Did they have a nice crowd?”
“Yes—a very nice crowd.”
“Did you dance every dance?”
“Every blessed one! The music was fine, and as I told you, last night, I had a dandy time. Would you like to go to Central Park this afternoon?” he asked suddenly, anxious to change the subject.
Somehow he didn’t want to talk about last night, but couldn’t have given a reason for the reluctancy he felt in mentioning it.
“No, dear,” Marjorie answered. “I prefer resting this afternoon, if you don’t mind. But you go somewhere yourself—to a movie, or a vaudeville.”