"Jerry, I'm going to sit in here with you men. I'm lonesome. I've always wanted to sit in here; it looks so cozy and smells so smelly."
The men laughed and rose to make room for her, but Jerry took her by the arm and piloted her swiftly forth.
"You'll have to smell it from afar," he said, and felt the grin of the men behind him. He was thoroughly irritated now.
"Execute me, Jerry, but don't look like that."
"Haven't you any instincts of breeding at all?" he inquired. "No nice girl does that sort of cheap, fresh thing. What do you suppose those men think of you? They do not consider you the least cute or clever, if that is what you intended them to think. Their main idea is that, if I am your guardian, I ought to lock you up until you learn some manners."
"I wish you were my guardian, Jerry."
Jerry was actually worn out with annoyance, with weariness, with fury at Wally Bryce for not taking her off his hands. He looked toward his escape with anticipation, and he devoutly hoped that his farewell with Isabelle would be forever. They were due in New York at ten o'clock at night. As they sat, ready to disembark, Isabelle leaned toward him.
"Jerry, do you hate me?"
"Oh, no," casually.
"Will you ever forgive me?"