"Yes, John," promptingly.
"Yes, John."
The morning-glory vines on the lattice reached up and out; brushed by the wind, they made a sheltering veil. He drew her closer. He lifted her face to his by a smoothing caress of her hair. He kissed her.
"My dearest! My splendid girl!"
He shook his head roguishly at her. "So wild, she was, with the bit in her teeth. And now—she eats right out of my hand."
Then, roguish no longer, he lifted her two hands, turned them—palms up—and touched them with his lips.
"Ah, dear, there must be no more going-it-alone. I want to take care of you after this. We won't wait, will we?"
"No."
"Just the minute a minister can be reached?"