Alone with her Don turned to seek Sally’s eyes and saw the frown still there.
“I––I told her,” he admitted; “I couldn’t help it. I’ve been up for an hour and I had to talk to some one.”
He took her arm.
“You’ve decided?” he asked.
His face was so tense, his voice so eager, that it was as much as she could do to remain vexed. Still, she resented the fact that he had spoken to her aunt without authority. It was a presumption that seemed to take for granted her answer. It was as though he thought only one answer possible.
“Heart of me,” he burst out, “you’ve decided?”
“You––you had no right to tell her,” she answered.
“Come down the road a bit,” he pleaded.
He led her down the path and along the country road between fields wet with dew. The air was clean and sweet and the sky overhead a spotless blue. It was the freshest and cleanest world he had ever seen and she was one with it.