"That's the way with men—they are never satisfied," remarked Miss Hargrove. "Mr. Clifford, this is your expedition, and it's getting so dark that I shall feel safer if you are driving."
"Oh, Gertrude, you have no confidence in me whatever. As if I would break your neck—or heart either!" Amy whispered in her friend's ear.
"You are a very mysterious little woman," was the reply, given in like manner, "and need hours of explanation." Then, to Webb: "Mr. Clifford, I've much more confidence in you than in Amy. Her talk is so giddy that I want a sober hand on the reins."
"To which Mr. Clifford do you refer?" asked Burt.
"Oh, are you reviving? I thought you had become unconscious."
"I'm not wholly past feeling."
"I want one to drive who can see his way, not feel it," was the laughing response.
Amy, too, was laughing silently, as she reined in the horses. "What are you two girls giggling about?" said Burt, becoming a little uncomfortable. "The idea of two such refined creatures giggling!"
"Well," exclaimed Webb, "what am I to do? I can't stand up between you and drive."
"Gertrude, you must clamber around and sustain Burt's drooping spirits."