Lorraine felt a swift glow of pride, and then inwardly admonished herself for being silly. What, after all, was size? As Hal had trenchantly remarked, plenty of London policemen were just as big and fine. Half in self-defence she added:
“He has brains as well, and he is as handsome as Apollo.”
“Then run,” was the laconic response; “don’t stop to buy a ticket; pay the other end.”
She smiled, but grew suddenly serious. Leaning forward with eyes straining hard to the horizon, she said: “Flip, I’ve had a hard life, in spite of the success. Shall I run?... or... shall I stay, and snatch joy, while there is still time?”
He looked at her with a growing interest.
“If I were you I should run,” he said; “but, all the same, I think you’ll stay.”
“No; I don’t think I shall. There are other reasons. He is a good deal younger than I—and—well, I’ve a fair amount on my soul already.”
The tired shadow was coming back to her eyes, but she laughed suddenly with an attempt at gaiety.
“You ought to have heard Hal Pritchard on the subject. She remarked there were plenty of London policemen just as big, and suggested if I wanted a fine young animal to play with, I should be safer with a polar bear from the Zoo.”
“Well done, Hal. We ought to have brought her. Where is she today?”