"Not yet?"
"Not at all. And the last time we were out alone together, he—he asked me to see if the oil was running through that little cup on the dash."
"And then?"
They were in the car now, Gerard behind the steering-wheel. Isabel leaned down to touch her fingers to the dash, turning her vivid-hued, consciously alluring face across her shoulder to the companion so close beside her, the auburn curls tumbled about her forehead and her mouth tempting as a small scarlet fruit.
"And then, we were like this when—guess what Corrie did?"
It was not in the least difficult to guess what the enamoured Corrie had done. But Gerard shook his head, schooling his mirthful eyes.
"I could not, possibly, Miss Rose. I am very dull."
"Well, what would you have done?"
"I? I should have shut both eyes and recalled St. Francis' rules of deportment."
Isabel straightened herself, leaning back and folding her hands in her lap.