"I guess he should," she said, taking a sudden keen interest in the toe of her slipper. Chester plunged on.
"But suppose you were the person that another person had said they liked, only they really didn't mean like but another word that begins with 'l,' do you think that person ought to be very frank and tell you that the way he regarded you did not begin 'li' but began 'lo'?"
"I guess so," she said, without abandoning the minute scrutiny of her toe.
"Well," said Chester, "that's how I regard you, not with an 'li' but with an 'lo.'"
Mildred did not look up.
"Oh, Chester," she murmured. He hitched his chair an inch nearer hers, and with a quick, uncertain movement, took hold of her hand. A loud slam of the front door caused them both to start.
"It's Dad," whispered Mildred. "And he's mad about something."
Her father, large and red-faced, entered the room.
"Good evening," he said, nodding briefly at Chester.
"Mildred, come into my study a minute, will you. There's something I want to talk to you about."