“The dressmaker must wait.”
“What a warning!” she laughed. “If you would order a mere—a mere acquaintance around so peremptorily, what would you do if you were married?”
“I’d be the boss,” announced Bobby with calm confidence.
“Indeed?” she mocked, and started into the library. “You’d ask permission first, wouldn’t you?”
“Where are you going?” he queried in return, and grinned.
“To telephone my dressmaker,” she admitted, smiling, and realizing, too, that it was not all banter.
“I told you to, remember,” asserted Bobby, with a strange new sense of masterfulness which would not down.
When she came down again, dressed for the trip, he was still in that dazed elation, and it lasted through their brisk ride to the far outskirts of the city, where, at the side of a watery marsh that extended for nearly a mile along the roadway, he halted.
“This is it,” waving his hand across the dismal waste.
“It!” she repeated. “What?”