"But I don't need shielding, Bobbie. I'm prudent, fearless, and—twenty-two. I don't need a watch-dog!"
"Good God, who said anything about being a watchdog?" exclaimed Bobbie. "I—I just want——"
"You just want me," completed Miss Vost. "Well, you can't have me."
"You love somebody else, then. That young pup!"
Peter stared sourly at the bilious moon.
"Don't you dare call him a young pup, Robert MacLaurin," retorted Miss Vost resentfully. "He is a fine young man. I admire him and I respect him very, very much."
"He can't fool around any girl of mine!"
Peter heard Bobbie sucking the breath in between his teeth, as if he might have pricked himself with a pin. Bobbie had done worse than that.
"A girl of yours!" snapped Miss Vost.
Followed low, anxious and imploratory whispers. These were terminated by a long, light, and delicious laugh.