"Why what in the world is that red-roof out on the rocks?" he cried.
In the same impulse both my Husband and myself ran quickly to his side.
"Oh, that's all right!" laughed my Husband. "I thought maybe it had blown off or something. Why, that's just the 'Bungalow on the Rocks,'" he explained.
"My Husband's study and work-room," I exemplified. "'Forbidden-Ground' is its real name! Nobody is ever allowed to go there without an invitation from—himself!"
"Why—but it wasn't there yesterday!" asserted George Keets.
"Oh, yes, it was!" laughed my Husband.
"It was not!" said George Keets.
The sheer unexpected primitiveness of the contradiction delighted us so that neither of us took the slightest offense.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, of course," George Keets recovered himself almost in an instant—"that right here before our eyes—that same vivid scarlet roof was looming there yesterday against the gray rocks and sea—and none of us saw it?"
"Saw what?" called Paul Brenswick. "Where?" And came striding to the window.