“Robert, why are you such a tease? I wish you would choose a time when I am not so nervous and tired. I’ve never thought of such a thing, foolish boy!”
“I told you to count ten before you asked her to live with us.”
“Don’t you like her, dear?”
“Yes, I think she’s good stuff; but—you know what I told you. If she comes to live with us, she’ll run the ranch. You hear me. I don’t care to have anybody pull my wires. When I hop, I want it to be from my own pure lightness of heart.”
Mrs. Nixon looked thoughtful. “I intend to count ten, Robert. I told you that a month at the Fairport Inn would reveal a great deal.”
“I think it will,” agreed Robert dryly.
“Meanwhile,” continued Mrs. Nixon with some asperity, “you can either leave her entirely to Irving Bruce or you can do your part toward entertaining her.”
Robert threw an arm around his mother’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze which ruffled her dignity into a heap.
“You’re no wire-puller, honey,” he said. “Better leave it alone.”
Mrs. Nixon wriggled herself free.