“I have my lunch today—but—”
“Let’s eat it out in the woods. I have mine also. Come along. We can get that trolley and be back in plenty of time—” insisted Trixy.
Presently the two were pushing their way through the lines and making for the trolley without further explanation.
“It’s wonderful out at the Springs, now,” said Trixy as quickly as she could say anything. “I hate the winter to come, but I do love the fall that introduces it.”
“I’ve never been to the Springs,” returned Gloria, expectantly.
“That’s so. I keep forgetting you are not a native. Well, I’ll have to hurry and make up for lost time and get to trotting you around,” declared Trixy. “We have some pretty places but not really as rusticly pretty as your wonderful Barbend. How are all the folks out that way?”
“Really, I haven’t heard much—”
“Not from your Tommy boy? Why, a little bird told me he was your devoted slave.” Trixy could say a thing like that with grace and without the least hint of intrusion.
“Oh, Tommy is a dear,” said Gloria, in quite a grown-up voice. “But really, I haven’t been writing home—”
“And I’ve heard about that fine young fellow who has your house, too,” declared Trixy, craftily. “You see, I go out to the bay often, and I know a lot of people out there.”