Inga sprang up lightly and taking up Dangerfield’s coat brought it over to him with a determined air.
“Of course he must go—besides, he’s just dying to,” she said laughing.
Dangerfield hesitated, resisting a little, still looking down at her.
“Are you sure you want me to go?”
“Very sure.”
He looked into her eyes, a little guilty weakening in his heart. Yet he was unable to detect any modifying seriousness beneath the lightness of her expression. He allowed her to slip his arms into the coat.
“There,” she cried; “you know you’re just crazy to do it.”
He couldn’t repress a telltale smile.
“Well, yes,” he said, feeling a sudden excitement in his voice. “It will mean a lot to go back to see the boys once more.” De Gollyer had gone ahead down the hall. He turned again, still uneasy, still a little conscience smitten. “I’ll just run in for a look around. Back by seven.” Then he caught her in his arms and held her close to him in one of the old impulsive moods. “How do you know so well what I want to do, young lady?”
“I do,” she said defiantly.