“Oh, then,” with a trace of bitterness in her voice, “then the red lights flicker and go out, and the pungent odor of kerosene oil is all that remains of them. The music stops with a last protesting wail of the violin, and the musicians hurry away after their beer and pretzels.”
“And what becomes of you and your noble thoughts?”
“Oh, I take my noble thoughts and go home, and quarrel with Aunt Amelia.”
Robert laughed so heartily that Meg leaned forward and said: “Sometimes I light the piano-lamp, and start the music-box going in the parlor after I go home.”
As they walked up the flower-bordered path to the house, Meg remarked softly, “I feel that I could wash and crimp Auntie’s hair, and make it look just lovely, now.”
[CHAPTER VI.]
“Speak low if you speak love.”
Robert was walking, with no particular aim in view, when he saw a familiar figure on the walk ahead of him, and hastening, he soon overtook her.
Meg turned her head as his step accustomed itself to hers, and smiled. “May I go with you, my pretty maid?” he asked lightly.
“Show me the girl who has been teaching you to say that kind of thing,” she exclaimed with mock anger.