She twanged a careless chord or two. “Oh, perhaps she was vexed because you didn’t stay at the house-party,” she suggested; “because you preferred White Cottage to Sandywood.”
After a while he struck a match and looked at his watch. “Nine o’clock. I must be going. If I stay much longer, the Cresaps will be sending out their launch to tow me home. You know, I’m supposed to be becalmed out in the bay. I hate to go. I’ve had a bully time.”
“Really?”
“Perfect. Betty, look here! I’m staying at Sandywood only until Tuesday, and to-day’s Friday. H-i-n-t!”
She rose and made him an adorable curtsy. “Bob White, Esquire, I respectfully invite you to come to my picnic to-morrow.”
“Will there be a picnic, really?”
“Yes—for you and me.”
“Great! I’ll come, and humbly thank you.”
“Then you must be at the foot of the lane by the brook at ten o’clock to-morrow morning. And it’s another secret, remember. Do you think you can get away?”
“I will get away. Perhaps I can invent a business letter that will call me to Baltimore.”