VII
The wind whined in the chimney and somewhere a shutter banged spitefully.
“That’s the only touch we needed to make a perfect evening!” said Grace, her cheeks glowing. “I expect to hear a stage coach come tearing into the yard any minute pursued by highwaymen. How did you ever come to think of McGovern’s?”
“Just one of my little happy thoughts! Now that we’ve found the way there’s no reason why we can’t repeat,” said Cummings.
“There you go! This doesn’t establish a precedent; it belongs to those experiences it’s better never to try again. But, it’s certainly jolly so far as we’ve gone. What if somebody should come prancing in?”
“It’s not a good night for prancing. McGovern said there hadn’t been a soul here for a week. That’s why he let us come, I suppose.”
“I can think of certain persons who wouldn’t add much to the joy of this particular party,” said Grace musingly.
“A little danger adds to the fun! You seem to forget that I thought it all up; I’m ready to go right on round the world!”
“Yes, you are!” she retorted teasingly. “It sounds awful but sometimes I think it’s cowardice that keeps most of us good! If you were a philosopher I’d ask your opinion on that subject but I see you haven’t a ghost of an idea!”
He frowned. There had always been a serious side to Grace. In her high school days she was constantly dipping into books that were beyond her, treatises on social science and the like that only depressed him. He didn’t know, of course, how eagerly she had caught at the opportunity of spending the evening with him merely to enjoy a few hours freedom from the turmoil of her own soul. It interested her for a moment to sound him as to whether by any chance he was conscious of the general transformation of things or knew that their visit to McGovern’s in itself had a significance; but he was a dreamer who responded only to the harmonies of life and avoided all its discords. He was caught up in the whirligig of apparently changing conditions just as she knew herself to be. Were they really breaking down the old barriers? Or was the world, aided by gasoline and jazz, moving so rapidly that in the mad rush it required a more alert eye to discern the danger signs?