“All right, come on. You aren’t taking me off for fear they’ll give you away, are you?”
“Give me away?”—anxiously.
“Mrs. Benjamin says you’re a prize pupil, but they can’t get away with that, Isabelle; I know you.”
“No, you don’t,” she laughed. “I’m all new.”
She slipped her arm through his and urged him forth.
“Come on, Wally, be a dear.”
So she managed to get him in the car and away from the house before the school trooped in. She had no plan beyond that, but she knew that she must never let Wally go back to that school. She looked at his little wizened face, muffled up in his coat collar, and his little pinched hands on the wheel. No; only over her dead body should the girls see Wally!
She set herself to his entertainment, and got him into a good humour in no time. He roared at her stories, her comments on the girls. He noted her fine colour.
“You’re getting handsome, Isabelle.”