There was that in his earnest, enthusiastic face that told her Robert would not be alone in his devotion.
“What do you call your play?”
“I’ve not determined yet; though I’ve thought of dubbing it ‘A Womanly Woman, or My Heroine.’”
“Don’t do that, for I am anything but a heroine.”
“No woman was ever a truer one. What title would you propose?”
“You want something that would suggest my real character—my striking characteristics?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Then, remember, that I am always stumbling along, allowing myself to be deceived and duped into doing silly things, and sometimes, as you have just told me, compromising things; weigh all these and call your play ‘A Fool in Spots.’” She laughed merrily, but there was a certain earnestness in her jest.
“But where is Robert?” Latham suddenly asked. While avowing his devotion to his friend, he had not until now thought of asking this question, nor had it occurred to Cherokee to explain his absence.