"Ready for what?" asked she, in surprise.
"The deuce, Margaret. I thought you said that you were going to the beach!"
She got up, readjusted her veil, took her wrap on her arm, and ran lightly after him.
"I wonder if I shall need this wrap?" she said as she passed our gate.
"Heavens! no," he replied, "and it will heat you all up to carry it. Here, give it to me. I don't see what on earth you brought it for. I'm certainly hot enough without loading me up with this."
"I will carry it," she said, cheerfully; "I don't feel the heat on my arm as you do—or I'll run back and leave it on the porch. You walk slowly. I can easily catch up."
She started; but he took the shawl from her, threw it lightly over his shoulder, and, pulling her hand through his arm, said gayly, and in the most compliant tone: "It isn't very warm. I won't notice this little thing and, besides, you'll need it down there, as like as not."
When they were out of hearing my wife drew a long breath and said: "I wonder if we ever sound like that to other people?—and yet, they seem to be devoted to each other," she added hastily.
"They are, no doubt," said I, "only he appears to be a chronic kicker."
"A comic what?" said my wife, in so loud a tone that I involuntarily exclaimed "Sh—!"