"Thank you!" said Robert, tersely. "No doubt that WOULD be a privilege, but I decline to marry you in order to see Little Poll safely through teething. Good-night!"
He stepped outside and closed the door very completely, and somewhat pronouncedly.
Kate stood straight an instant, then realized biscuit dough was slowly creeping down her wrist. With a quick fling, she shot the mass into the scrap bucket and sinking on the chair she sat on to peel vegetables, she lifted her apron, laid her head on her knees, and gave a big gulping sob or two. Then she began to cry silently. A minute later the door opened again. That time it had to be Adam, but Kate did not care what he saw or what he thought. She cried on in perfect abandon.
Then steps crossed the room, someone knelt beside her, put an arm around her and said: "Kate, why are you crying?"
Kate lifted her head suddenly, and applied her apron skirt. "None of your business," she said to Robert's face, six inches from hers.
"Are you so anxious as all this about Little Poll's teeth?" he asked.
"Oh, DRAT Little Poll's teeth!" cried Kate, the tears rolling uninterruptedly.
"Then WHY did you say that to me?" he demanded.
"Well, you said you 'only stopped to tell me that I needn't go to Agatha's,'" she explained. "I had to say something, to get even with you!"
"Oh," said Robert, and took possession. Kate put her arms around his neck, drew his head against hers, and knew a minute of complete joy.