“Now, Peter, you know perfectly well you like Allie better.”
“Yes, I do like her better. Sometimes I don’t like you at all. But I always love you.”
“Habit—simply habit,” Beatrice assured him airily. “You’ll do it, won’t you?”
“No!” cried Peter, stopping short. “No, I’ll not do it. I’ve made up my mind to marry you. And I will.”
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Hanky Vanderkief?” cried Beatrice. “Why, I always thought you were a gentleman.”
“Oh, when we’re married you’ll be all right—mighty glad you did. A girl doesn’t know her own mind.”
“Shame on you! Trying to take advantage of the fact that my father’s got me in his power.”
This admission delighted Peter. “He’s set on your marrying me?” he inquired.
“That’s why I want you to help me.”
“Then that settles it!” exclaimed Peter triumphantly. “We’ll be married.”