"Then you do keep promises! Tell me solemnly that you will leave your mother in freedom. If you don't, Ben—Sir Galahad—I'll run away. I really will—"
In her earnestness she lifted her face toward his, her eyes were irresistible, and in an instant he had swept her into his arms and was kissing her tenderly, fervently, to the utter undoing of the droopy hat which fell unnoticed to the floor.
Voices approaching made him release her.
Very flushed, very grave, both of them, they looked into each other's eyes, and Geraldine, being a woman, put both hands up to her ruffled hair.
"I do promise you, Geraldine," he said, low and earnestly. "Whatever my mother does after this you may know is of her own volition."
Pete burst into the room wild-eyed, followed by Miss Mehitable, who was talking and laughing.
"He was afraid you'd go away without him," she said—"Mercy's sakes, Geraldine Melody, look at your hat!" She darted upon it and snapped some dust off its chiffon. "You'd better be careful how you throw this around. We can't buy a hat like this every day."
"Oh, do forgive me, Miss Upton!" murmured the girl, her eyes very bright. "It was her present to me," she added to Ben. "I'm so sorry!" She went to Miss Mehitable and laid her cheek against hers, and Miss Upton bestowed another prodigious wink upon the purchaser of the hat.
It did not break his gravity; a gravity which Miss Upton but just now noticed.
"Come, Pete, we'll be going," said Ben, and his flushed, serious face worried Miss Mehitable's kind heart, especially as no sign of his merry carelessness returned in his brief leave-taking.