"Where will you end, Rojjie?" cried Dorothy.
"Suburbs probably," she replied practically. "These old wasters take you out to dinner; but marry you—not much." She shook her wise little head so vigorously that her bobbed hair shook like a fringe. "I wish I had a John Dene," she said after a pause.
"A John Dene!"
"Ummm!" nodded Marjorie.
"Why?"
"Marry him, of course."
"Don't be absurd."
Suddenly Marjorie slipped off the table and, going over to Dorothy, threw her arms round her impulsively.
"I'm so sorry, Dollikins," she cried, snuggling up against her.
"Sorry for what?" asked Dorothy in a weak voice.