"That depends on you."
"On me?"
"Yes, of course. Don't you see that it does? I left a note for mother, saying I had run away with you, so I think you'll have to marry me, Jerry."
He laughed outright, but one look at her face silenced him.
"I beg your pardon, but that strikes me as a little high-handed, your running off with me, like this, and then demanding that I marry you. Modern, but extreme, I should say. How old are you?"
"I am sixteen and a half," with dignity.
"Well, even at that advanced age we do make mistakes, and this is one of yours, Isabelle. I expect a wire from your father saying that he will follow us to Jacksonville, and take charge of you."
"I'm not going back on that damned yacht!"
"My child, the decision as to your destination lies with your respected father. In the meantime, you must be starving, so we'll go to lunch."
Just then the porter came through with Wally's wire. It read: "Sorry. She's a devil. Take her to New York. Wiring head mistress of school to meet her there. Wally." The extreme concern in Jerry's face prompted Isabelle to read over his shoulder. Then she laughed gaily and defiantly. Jerry controlled himself, put the telegram into his pocket, and rose.