Her use of that word brought warmth to his heart. “She doesn’t wish it. Frankly, I think she wouldn’t like it at all. But I think she’d consent.”
She was greatly relieved. She leaned forward and patted him on the knee. “I was afraid you might be planning to cut down the company,” she said.
He looked at her without comprehending readily.
“I mean,” she elaborated, “I thought maybe it was a case of cold feet.”
He flinched. “Oh, Bonnie May!” was his disapproving rejoinder.
“You mean it’s stale?” she asked. The expression in her eyes was innocent, perplexed.
He slowly shook his head in despair, and then he saw the swift look of comprehension that brightened her eyes.
“Oh, I know,” she said. “Knock-about talk!”
He sprang to his feet and thrust his chair aside. “For a few moments I would be very glad if we might use the English language,” he said. “I was hopeful of arriving at an understanding with you on a certain simple proposition.”
She began to laugh unrestrainedly, after an instant of shocked silence. She “stared him out of countenance,” as the saying is. He had never heard her laugh so hilariously. Yet even then he could not be blind to the look of appeal in her eyes—appeal, mingled with a defiant consciousness of guilt.