“Here is the picture,” he announced somberly.
“The picture?” said Betty. “Oh, thank you. Won’t you sit down?”
Phillip stared. Betty continued to smile with bright and amiable politeness. Phillip sat down. As she had made no move toward taking the photograph, he laid it irresolutely on a table at his elbow and then stared at his shoes with such apparent interest that Betty was moved to silent laughter.
“It is still snowing, I think,” she said. As she sat with her back to the windows her uncertainty may have been excusable. Phillip looked out into the blinding storm and answered gravely in the affirmative. He had an uncomfortable feeling that Betty was secretly laughing at him, and his anger, which had died overnight, began to show signs of returning animation. He arose and secured the top button of his coat to the second buttonhole.
“I will say good-evening,” he announced.
“But it’s only afternoon!” exclaimed Betty, just as though she had not a dozen times before corrected Phillip for that Southernism.
“Good-afternoon,” he amended with much dignity.
“Oh,” said Betty, “must you go so soon? Then you are not going to tell me, after all!” she added regretfully. Phillip struggled for a moment with curiosity. Then he yielded.
“Tell you what?”
“What you were going to tell me yesterday. I believe you’ve forgotten!”