“Didn’t you suspect me of being a flirt?”
He disengaged her hands carefully.
“And still do,” he spoke gravely.
“You are a villain.” She jokingly struck at him.
“I admit it.” He caught her hands and warded off the blow. “All good-looking women are unwitting flirts, and all men are potential villains—the one beckons and the other—doesn’t the classic song indicate that it is the villain who ever pursues her?”
“Villain?” cried a hearty voice from within the Norris cottage. “Who’s tryin’ to play villain on my front lawn?” A magnificent head of red hair parted the curtains that served for door and mosquito protectors. “Jerry!” cried Phœbe, “you angel-child! Come over here and hug me! Who’s your young man?” she asked as the two young women rocked together. “Do I—or do I not—hug him too?”
Richard opened his arms.
“Decide, O angel-child. Quick, decide!” he cried.
Jerry emerged laughing from Phœbe’s strenuous embrace.
“No!” she decided.