Her eyes were fixed dreamily upon the window-pane behind his shoulder.
“I was only thinking,” she confessed in a slow, pensive manner, “of what a beautiful day it is, and that”—She stopped herself.
“And that—”
“That's all. Nothing else.”
“Oh, yes, there was. Please tell me. And that—?”
“And that—now the winter is upon us—that we shan't have many more like it. There.”
“Ah, I see! And you were longing to be out of doors, enjoying it. No wonder.”
She colored up and began protesting.
“Oh, really, Mr. Bacharach; no, indeed—”
“Oh, yes, you were. No use denying it. And so far as I'm concerned, I've done a good morning's work already. And, I propose that we go and join your father in the park—if you know where to find him?”