"I want to make a correction," Marc said quickly.
A crafty look came into Pete's eyes. "Say, you ain't tryin' to back out, are you? You said I wasn't to let you, if you did. Remember?"
Things, Marc could see, were going to take a bit of doing. Perhaps a little firmness.... "Give me that note," he ordered.
"In front of her?" Pete nodded toward Toffee. "You wouldn't want her to know about it. It'd shock her somethin' awful. You wanted this all secret."
Marc decided to drop the matter. Anything that would shock Toffee's rawhide sensitivities was better left in the dim regions of Pete's pocket ... for the time being, anyway. Uneasy thoughts of blackmail coursed quietly through his mind.
Pushing her chair back, Marge got to her feet. "Come on, Pete," she said. "Let's get outa here and get some fresh air."
"You ain't finished breakfast yet," Pete reminded her.
"All of a sudden I got sour stomach." She glanced meaningfully at Toffee.
Together, the two of them left the table and moved across the dining room, to the door leading onto the veranda. Marc stared worriedly after them.
"Don't look so glum," Toffee said gently, reaching out to pat his hand. "You still love me, you know, no matter what happens."