“We know as much about this as we do the other,” Jack shouted back, “and this is lots prettier. Come on; if it gets too steep, we can always go back.”
“No, I guess we’ll stick to this one,” Phil decided. “It looks like too much work where you are,” and the trio walked on.
Lucile started to follow, but Jack laid a restraining hand on her arm. “We don’t have to follow them,” he pleaded. “It’s so long since I’ve seen you, and I haven’t been able to talk to you yet.”
Lucile hesitated; then, “Well, just for a short distance,” she conceded. “And then we can meet them on the way back.”
“Thanks,” he said; then added, “I thought you weren’t very glad to see me yesterday. You know, I was strongly tempted to take the next steamer across the Atlantic. Haven’t you thought of me at all?”
It was rather a hard question to ask, and Lucile blushed when she remembered how often she had thought of him and his letters.
“Of course,” she said; “and I wrote to you——”
“Just twice,” he finished. “I came very near sending you a box of writing paper—thought there must be a scarcity of it over here.”
Lucile laughed her gay little laugh. “That would have been a surprise,” she chuckled; then, more seriously, “But you know, there are so many people to write to, and it was awfully hard——”
“Oh, yes, I know all about it,” he broke in. “Terribly busy; couldn’t find time, and all that, but if you think 173 very much of somebody, writing isn’t a duty; it’s a pleasure.”