Leslie, instantly mollified, drew his cold, firm cheek against hers, and looked sidewise toward Norma.
"Isn't he the nice, big, comfy man to come home to his mad little old wife?" she mumbled, luxuriously.
"Yes," Acton grumbled, still half embracing her, "but you didn't talk that way at breakfast, you little devil!"
"Am I a devil?" Leslie asked, lazily. And looking in whimsical penitence at Norma, she added, "I am a devil. But you were just as mean as you could be," she told him, widening her eyes and shaking her head.
"I know it. I felt like a dog, walking down town," her husband admitted promptly. "I tried to telephone but you weren't here!"
"I was at Aunt Annie's," Leslie said, softly. Her husband had slipped in beside her on the wide davenport, and she was resting against his shoulder, and idly kissing the little rebel lock of hair that fell across one temple. "He's a pretty nice old husband!" she murmured, contentedly.
"And she's a pretty nice little wife, if she did call me some mean names!" Acton returned, kissing the top of her head without altering her position. Norma looked at them with smiling contempt.
"You're a great pair!" she conceded, indulgently.
Leslie now was free to examine, with a flush and a laugh, the microscopic pair of beaded Indian moccasins that Chris had brought from Florida. Norma asked about Chris.
"Oh, he's fine," Acton answered, "looks brown and hard; he had a gorgeous time! He said he might be round to see Grandma to-morrow morning!"