The fact that she was eating supper with another woman’s husband in a place frankly chosen for its isolation interested her, as so many social phenomena had interested her since she left the University.
“Oh, thunder!” he said with a shrug. “There’s no use in our worrying. Let the old folks do that. I guess we’ve all got a right to be happy and tastes differ as to what happiness is. That’s all.”
This, of course, wasn’t all, but she refrained from saying so. A look came into his eyes that warned her to have a care. She must guard herself from an attempt on his part, which she saw was impending, to take advantage of the hour to make love to her.
“Grace,” he resumed, “every time I get blue it’s you I want to see.”
“Tush, tush! I’d never have come if I’d thought you were going to be foolish. Don’t you get the notion into your silly head that you can run to me every time you get down in the mouth. There’s no reason why I should hold your hand when you’re sorrowful; I don’t want the job!”
She was eating with an honest appetite that discouraged his hope of interesting her in sentiment.
“Wow! I thought you’d jump at the offer!”
“Have another biscuit! I want to laugh! How silly this is, Bob! I supposed you brought me out here to show me a good time and we’re almost at the point of quarreling.”
“Now, Grace, we’ll never do that! I didn’t think you’d mind the compliment! But,” dolefully, “I suppose you get so many!”
He became tractable, obedient, anxious to please her. She knew that she could do with him very much as she pleased; but there was no satisfaction in the exercise of her power over so unstable a character. She was sorry for him, much as she would have been sorry for a child who never quite learned his lessons; and there were lessons Bob Cummings would never learn.