Kirk, meanwhile, uneasy, but a little guessing at the fury behind Ruth’s calm face, was expounding his great scheme, his panacea for all the ills of domestic misunderstandings and parted lives.
“Ruth, old girl.”
Ruth shuddered.
“Ruth, old girl, I’ve had a bully good idea. It’s getting too warm for anything in New York. Did you ever feel anything like it is to-day? Why shouldn’t you and I pop down to the shack and camp out there for a week or so? And we would take Bill with us. Just we three, with somebody to do the cooking. It would be great. What do you say?”
What Ruth said languidly was: “It’s quite impossible.”
It was damping; but Kirk felt that at all costs he must refuse to be damped. He clutched at his cheerfulness and held it.
“Nonsense,” he retorted. “Why is it impossible? It’s a great idea.”
Ruth half hid a yawn. She knew she was behaving abominably, and she was glad of it.
“It’s impossible as far as I’m concerned. I have a hundred things to do before I can leave New York.”
“Well, I could do with a day or two to clear up a few bits of work I have on hand. Why couldn’t we start this day week?”