"We were going to have company for luncheon, and I forgot to leave a message in the bottle that I wanted cream," explained Doris, flushing.
"And one morning, very early, I saw you run out-of-doors in a shower, barefooted, and your hair hanging, and you wore your father's old coat and hat, I think, and you were gobbling tablecloths off the line."
"They did not dry, and I left them on the line over night. But the shower came up, and I had to rush after them."
"And one morning—"
"Don't you ever sleep? How does it come that you always see me some ghastly hour in the morning? Why don't you appear about three in the afternoon, when I am nicely brushed and have on a fresh dress, and look like a preacher?"
"Morning is my own particular time of day. So beware how you venture out, for you can't escape my eyes."
"You must be a milk man."
He only laughed. "Now tell me the truth, have you thought of me once since the da—party?"
"Yes, not being a regular sphinx, I have. I have thought of you very often—you are the funniest thing I ever saw. But somehow I did not expect to see you at church."