"Well, of what are you thinking?" Corrie repeated. "He's splendid, I know that."
"I am thinking of Isabel," Flavia answered quietly, "and of you. If you take Mr. Gerard home, she will see a great deal of him."
Astonished, he regarded her. After a moment he again looked toward the man opposite, his expression sober.
"It's like you to think of me," he acknowledged, with slow gratitude. "But that's all right. If any one else can get her, I'd better know it now. Of course he'll want her, she's just the kind of girl he'd like, such a sport herself about cars and things. If she likes him better than me, why I'll have to stand it, that's all."
"Then, I shall be very glad to have Mr. Gerard stay with us, dear; don't you and I always like the same things?"
"We sure do, Other Fellow?"
The childhood "play name" brought their cordial glances together, as Mr. Rose dropped into his seat.
"Game's over, Corwin B.; better run get your friend," he notified, cheerily imperious. "Hurry along."
Half-smiling, half-anxious, Corrie lingered on the verge of compliance.
"I—I feel a chill at the idea," he avowed. "I believe, after all, I'm shy of Gerard!"