"To the theater."
"Good. We'll start with that. But the minute the play is over we'll gallop off to the Plaza Grill—just as the music is in full swing—"
"And we'll dance," she groaned, "for hours. And when I get home, I'll creep into bed so tired and sore in every limb—"
"That you'll sleep late Sunday morning. And a mighty good thing for you, too—if you ask my advice—"
"I don't ask your advice!"
"You're getting it, though," he said doggedly. "If you're still to be a friend of mine we'll dance at the Plaza to-morrow night—and well into the Sabbath."
"The principal of a public school—dancing on the Sabbath. Suppose one of my friends should see us there."
"Your friends," he replied with a fine contempt, "do not dance in the Plaza Grill. I'm the only roisterer you know."
"All right," she conceded grudgingly, "I'll roister. Come and get me. But I'd much prefer when the play is done to come home and have milk and crackers here."
"Deborah," he said cheerfully, "for a radical school reformer you're the most conservative woman I know."