Page scolded him roundly. What next? The idea. He was not to be so completely silly. She didn't propose to have the responsibility of his catching pneumonia just for the sake of a quibble.
"Some people," she declared, "never seemed to be able to find out that they are grown up."
"Very well," he announced, "I'll go if I can tip the driver a dollar."
Page compressed her lips.
"The man that can afford dollar tips," she said, "can afford to hire the cab in the first place."
"Seventy-five cents, then," he declared resolutely. "Not a cent less. I should feel humiliated with any less."
"Will you please take me down to the cab, Landry Court?" she cried. And without further comment Landry obeyed.
"Now, Miss Dearborn, if you are ready," exclaimed Corthell, as he came up. He held the umbrella over her head, allowing his shoulders to get the drippings.
They cried good-by again all around, and the artist guided her down the slippery steps. He handed her carefully into the hansom, and following, drew down the glasses.
Laura settled herself comfortably far back in her corner, adjusting her skirts and murmuring: