She drew a deep breath.
"It was worth it to get this. Isn't it cool and quiet? I like this black and white road. Doesn't the night smell delicious?"
"It's the cottage gardens," he said.
"Wallflowers and briar and old man. Better than all your acres of glass, after all," she insinuated mischievously. Then, with a change of tone, "Oh, dear, I am tired."
"You'd better hang on to my arm," said Roger promptly. "That's better. Of course you're tired. If you insist on running the entire show——"
"Then you did think that?" Alwynne gave instant battle. "I knew you did. I saw you laugh. I can walk by myself, thank you."
But her dignity edged her into a cart-rut, for Roger did not deviate from the middle of the lane.
He laughed.
"You're a consistent young woman—I'm as sure of a rise——You'd better take my arm. Alwynne! You're not to say 'Damn.'" A puddle shone blackly, and Alwynne, nose in air, had stepped squarely into it.
She ignored his comments.