"It's not that Clara's busy to-night, ma. She—she only thought she—for a change—there's a little side table for two—for three—where she boards—she thought maybe if—if you didn't mind, I'd go over to her place for Wednesday-night supper for a change. You know how a girl like Clara gets to feeling obligated."
"Obligated from eating once a week supper in her own future house!"
"She asked I should bring you, too, ma, but I know how bashful you are to go in places like that."
"In such a place where it's all style and no food—yes."
"That's it; so we—I thought, ma, that is, if you don't mind, instead of Clara here to-night for supper, I—I'd go over to her place. If you don't mind, ma."
There was a silence, so light, so slight that it would not have even held the dropping of a pin, but yet had a depth and a quality that set them both to breathing faster.
"Why, of course, Sammy, you should go!"
"I—we thought for a change."
"You should have told me yesterday, Sammy, before I marketed poultry."
"I know, ma; I—just didn't. Clara only 'phoned at four."