“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Well, what—” he began impatiently, and then, turning on me, he read in my face, I suppose, how much the House of the Five Pines had come to mean to me.
“Now, see here,” he finished more kindly, “I can’t think about houses to-day; you know I can’t. Ask me to-morrow.”
“All right, dear; I’ll ask you to-morrow. Have you got my seat for to-night?”
“Seat?”
“Yes, a ticket to get in with. I suppose I’ll have to have a pass of some sort, won’t I? I don’t want to stand up behind the stage.”
“Why, I’m sorry; I never thought of it. I’ll run up to the theater before I come back and get you something.”
“You won’t have time; you’re going out for dinner, aren’t you?”
“I was.”
“Well, go ahead. I’ll see about the ticket somehow. Don’t bother.”