“Mary,” he said reproachfully, “you are not going to hold me to that promise?”
The answer was given with a decisiveness that admitted of no question, and there was a hardness in her face that emphasized the words.
“I am going to hold you to that promise, Dick.”
For a few seconds, the young man stared at her with troubled eyes. Then he moved impatiently, and dropped his hands from her shoulders. But his usual cheery smile came again, and he shrugged resignedly.
“All right, Mrs. Gilder,” he said, gaily. The sound of the name provoked him to new pleasure. “Sounds fine, doesn't it?” he demanded, with an uxorious air.
“Yes,” Mary said, but there was no enthusiasm in her tone.
The husband went on speaking with no apparent heed of his wife's indifference.
“You pack up what things you need, girlie,” he directed. “Just a few—because they sell clothes in Paris. And they are some class, believe me! And meantime, I'll run down to Dad's office, and have him back here in half an hour. You will be all ready, won't you?”
Mary answered quickly, with a little catching of her breath, but still coldly.
“Yes, yes, I'll be ready. Go and bring your father.”