“Well, I’ve come to tell you that I’m going to insist on your being more energetic. I want you to take me for a drive.”
“A drive! Now? But, my dear Miss Gracey, the sun’s simply scorching.”
Mercedes flushed slightly. Her cavalier’s manner of accepting the suggestion did not please her.
“If you’re afraid of your complexion,” she said, “you can hold my parasol over your head. I’ll drive.”
Harrower laughed. When she said things of this kind he thought her what he would have called “great fun.” Still he would have much preferred remaining on the balcony with his novel and his cigarette, to braving the heat of the afternoon, even in Miss Gracey’s smart new pony phaeton, with Miss Gracey in the driver’s seat. He sat up, rubbing his eyes into a more wakeful brightness and smothering a yawn.
“Where are we to drive to? Menlo Park again?”
“No, I’m going to take you back in the hills to the De Soto place. It was originally an old Spanish grant and part of the place is just the way it used to be. The Allens live there. They moved down early this year, so I don’t think you met them in town. Some people think the girls are very pretty.”
“Pretty girls!” said Harrower, pricking up his ears. “By all means let’s go.”
He looked at her laughing, for he thought she would enjoy the humor of his sudden enthusiasm. Instead, for a fleeting second, her face was clouded with annoyance. Then she recovered herself and rose to her feet, moving away from him.
“The horses are ready now,” she said. “I’ll go up for my hat and parasol and I’ll expect to find you at the steps when I come down.”