Relieved and encouraged by her understanding and sympathy, he explained more particularly the location of the property he proposed buying. It was quite as convenient to the industrial colony that had grown up about the storage battery plant as the Milton land his father had declined to let him use. The land was bound to appreciate in value, he said.
“What if it doesn’t!” exclaimed Constance with mild scorn. “You’ll have been doing good with your money, anyhow.”
“You think, then, you’d go ahead—sell the stock and buy the land? It’s so late now, maybe I’d better wait till spring?”
“That might be better, Shep, but use your own judgment. You asked your father to help and he turned you down. Your going ahead will have a good effect on him. He needs a jar. Now run along and dress. You’re going to be late for dinner.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, rising and looking down at her as she sat turning over the leaves of a book. “Connie——”
“Yes, Shep,” she murmured absently; and then, “Oh, by the way, Shep, I was at Helen’s this afternoon.”
“Helen Torrence’s? What was it—a tea?”
“In a manner of speaking—tea! Dramatic Club business. George Whitford was there—he’s concentrating on theatricals. George is such a dear!”
“One of the best fellows in the world!” said Shep.
“He certainly is!” Constance affirmed.