She placed a hand on each arm of the chair and leaned forward obediently. Their lips met in a smile.
"You lazy thing!" she exclaimed, her face slightly flushed. Then she seated herself on one of the big arms, resting her elbow on the back of the chair beside his head. For a few minutes both were silent, gazing at the bright coals before them, the smile remaining upon their lips. Hugh had been squinting between the toes of his shoes at a lonely black chunk in the grate for some time before he finally spoke reflectively.
"I can't afford to be lazy much longer, can I? Married men never have a minute's rest, you know."
"We're not married."
"No; but we're going to be, let me remind you. We are to--to announce it to-morrow night, are we not? It has come to that, you see." He did not look very cheerful, nor did she.
"Yes, I suppose it's imperative. That is why aunt is giving her reception,--just to tell everybody we're engaged."
"And then everybody will shake hands with us and say, 'Congratulations,' 'How lovely,' 'So surprised,' 'Howdy do,' and so forth, and we say 'Thanks,' 'How good of you,' and more so forth. It will be great!" Another silence and inspection of the fire, he taking an altered aim at the black chunk. "Say!" he exclaimed, "wouldn't it do just as well if I didn't put in an appearance to-morrow night? Your aunt can announce the thing, as agreed, and you can tell 'em that I have a sick uncle in Indianapolis, or have had my leg broken, or something like that. Now, there's a good girl."
"No," she said. "We fell in love because we couldn't help it, and this is the penalty--an announcement party."
"I'll never quite understand why you fell," said he dubiously.
"I think we were both too young to know," she responded. "It seems to me that we've been in love ever since we were babies."