“I didn’t make you,” retorted Mr. Thayer. “I particularly advised you to go around.”
“Exactly,” agreed Babbie, “and that made me want to go over. Dear me! Do you suppose we shall ever really quarrel on account of my not wanting to give in to your chin?”
“No, because I shall always want to give in to yours,” Mr. Thayer told her.
“But I shouldn’t let you give in always,” declared Babbie. “I should take turns giving in.”
“Don’t say ‘should,’” objected Mr. Thayer. “Say ‘shall.’ Haven’t we settled it?”
“Of course.” Babbie gave a comical little sigh. “It feels so queer to be settled—and so very nice. Now go back to your party, and I’ll get Nora to lend me some pins so I can go back too. Oh, and we’ll tell Betty, shan’t we, right away?”
Under the circumstances Betty wasn’t extremely surprised, but she was extremely pleased.
“Now our tea-room is as successful as the famous one that belonged to the cousins of the girl who lives over Mrs. Bob,” she laughed. “It has produced an engagement, and a literary career to match the artist person’s.”
Babbie frowned. “You mustn’t leave yourself out, Betty. You’re mixed up in everything, and I don’t believe that other tea-room was half as nice as this or made half as much money.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Betty happily. “I’m perfectly satisfied with my profits, though they’re not so extraordinary as yours and Madeline’s. Every morning when I unlock the door I’m in such a hurry to look in and see that everything is all right and all here. It’s so pretty and I love it so, that I’m afraid it will vanish some night like a fairy palace.”