She loved his nice naughty child penitence. Nor did she object to his masterful way as he drew up chairs.
"I've a lot to tell you," he went on, "but——"
Her dimple deepened at his embarrassment, and she reflected that he certainly needed a woman to help him pick out his cravats.
"I'm listening," she said demurely.
"This is the first chance I've had to speak to you since that day at Brighton—when you—
"I'm sorry I—I lost my temper, Bob," she whispered.
"Sorry," he burst out. "Why should you be sorry? You did the right thing. You called me down, but—you didn't say enough—not half enough."
"I didn't?"
He caught the mischief of her eyes, and, suddenly, as they remembered Betty's slashing outburst, they both were seized with a wild desire to laugh.
"My little pal! Betty Thompson!" he exclaimed in the old cordial way. "Say, why didn't you tell me about this—secretary business?" He tried to take one of her hands in his, but she drew it away gently. "Why didn't you, Betty?"