“Yes,” he said. “That’s what we thought. It’s so, isn’t it?”
She framed a reply, but withheld it, or, rather, she bit it in two and threw it away, symbolically. It was a clover stem. She sat on her feet, bent over, plucking at the grass, with an occasional glance at the woman on the bench.
“Do you think it’s nice to spy on a girl as you have been doing?” she asked.
“Very nice,” he said, to tease her.
“And is this the way you get girls for your parties?”
“May we drive up to your door and ask for you there?”
“You may.”
“Then will you come?”
“No, I won’t be home.”
“Why not?”