Within an hour, Marion, working over a hat in the trimming-room, was startled to hear the cottage door open, and to see Dicksie quite unconcernedly walk in. To Marion’s exclamation of surprise she returned only a laugh. “I have changed my mind, dear. I am going to stay all night.”
Marion kissed her approvingly. “Really, you are getting so sensible I shan’t know you, Dicksie. In fact, I believe this is the most sensible thing you were ever guilty of.”
“Glad you think so,” returned Dicksie dryly, unpinning her hat. “I certainly hope it is. Mr. McCloud persuaded me it wasn’t right for me to ride home alone, and I knew better than he what danger there was for him in riding home with me––so here I am. He is coming over for supper, too, in a few minutes.”
When McCloud arrived he brought with him a porterhouse steak, and Marion was again driven 321 from the kitchen. At the end of an hour, Dicksie, engrossed over the broiler, was putting the finishing touches to the steak, and McCloud, more engrossed, was watching her, when a diffident and surprised-looking person appeared in the kitchen doorway and put his hand undecidedly on the casing. While he stood, Dicksie turned abruptly to McCloud.
“Oh, by the way, I have forgotten something! Will you do me a favor?”
“Certainly! Do you want money or a pass?”
“No, not money,” said Dicksie, lifting the steak on her forks, “though you might give me a pass.”
“But I should hate to have you go away anywhere–––”
“I don’t want to go anywhere, but I never had a pass, and I think it would be kind of nice to have one just to keep. Don’t you?”
“Why, yes; you might put it in the bank and have it drawing interest.”