“Well,”—Nina leaned back in her chair and tilted her head sideways—“what are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll make them answer to me—personally. It was my fault. I ought to have walked home, I suppose.”
“But you didn’t—that’s the rub. They won’t answer to you personally anyway, at least nobody but the chauffeur, and he might do it—er—unpleasantly.”
“I’ll thrash him—I’ll break his——”
“No, you won’t. It wouldn’t do the least bit of good, and besides it would make matters worse if he thrashed you. There’s only one thing left for you to do, my friend.”
“What?”
“Marry me!”
Phil Gallatin stopped pacing the floor and faced her, frowning.
“You still insist on that joke?”
“I do. And it’s no joke. It seems to be the least thing that you can do, under the circumstances.”