“I told you I’d never see you again!” she said indignantly. “You have no excuse for waylaying me like this. It’s unpardonable!”
“Don’t be so cruel!” he pleaded. “I’ll be awfully nice—honestly I will! You won’t have a thing to be sorry for.”
Firm as her resolution had been not to see him again she was weighing the relief it would be to avoid going home against the danger of encouraging him.
“Where are your manners, sir? You haven’t even offered to drive me home.”
“God pity us homeless children in the great city tonight!” he cried, aware that she was relenting. “My car’s parked yonder by the Sycamore Tavern. The night invites the adventurous spirit. We’ll dare the elements and ride hard and fast like king’s messengers.”
“Will you keep that up—just that way—pretending we’re two kids cutting up, as we used to do?”
“Of course, Grace; you may count on it.”
“Well, I’m tired and bored with myself, and was dreading the ride home—I’ll go! But whither?”
“To McGovern’s house of refreshment at the border of a greenwood, known to Robin Hood in olden times!” cried Cummings, elated by her consent. “We’ll stop at the Sycamore and I’ll telephone the varlet to make the coffee hot.”
“I supped there once, years agone! But the crowd was large and boisterous,” she replied, now entering fully into the spirit of the proposed adventure. Their attempt at archaic speech recalled their youthful delight in the Arthurian legends in days when their world was enfolded in a golden haze of romance.