"Of course not. Do go back."
Gwynne returned to the veranda. For more than another hour that sweet nasal monotonous voice trilled on. Then it began to flag. Then a silence ensued, broken at first by sporadic and staccato remarks, then becoming as dense as the silences of the night. Again Gwynne invaded his living-room.
"Isabel!" he said, in a low tense tone.
Isabel looked up dreamily and encountered a haggard face and a pair of blazing eyes. "I'll never forgive you!" he whispered.
"For what?"
"For what! Do you want to drive me mad? Take her home!"
"Do you mean to say that you have not been enjoying yourself?"
"Enjoying myself! I have been on the rack."
"You are the rudest—most unsatisfactory—I thought I knew your taste."
"Oh, please!"