She looked to see if he was joking. He was not. He had spent the last three summers very pleasantly in the White Mountains.
“No,” she answered. “A ten-cent trolley trip is my limit.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere I can find trees or water. You can get quite a trip right in Central Park, and it’s good fun to watch the kiddies getting an airing.”
There was a note in her voice that made him turn his head toward her. The color sprang to her cheeks.
“It’s time I was getting back,” she announced as she rose. “This is Mr. Seagraves’s busy day.”
“But look here; I haven’t finished my éclair!”
“Then you’d better devote the next five minutes to that,” she advised.
She disappeared through the door, and in another second was blended with a thousand others.