He emphatically had, though she understood one thing and he meant another. When they had gone some little distance in the direction of lunch she observed:
"I wish I were not in mourning. I've half a mind to go back and change."
He observed her critically--he was holding one of her hands under cover of the apron.
"My dear Gladys, I can't admit that you do look your best in mourning."
"Do you think that I don't know that?"
"But you look charming, all the same."
"No, I don't; I look a perfect fright."
"I doubt if you could look a fright even if you tried; I'm certain you don't look one now. In fact, the more I look at you the harder I find it to keep from kissing you."
"I dare say! You'd better not."
"That's a truth of which I'm unpleasantly aware. Still, if you did look like anything distantly resembling a fright, I shouldn't have that feeling so strong upon me, should I?"