She laughed, a ringing laugh free as the March wind. “You must think I’m an awful grafter.”
“I think you’re a sweetness.”
The laugh died down. “I guess we’d better be going back.”
[263]
] They swung round. “All right. But we’ll stop at Arrowhead first.”
“What’s Arrowhead?”
Once more that swift quizzical look, then his head went back with a long chuckle. “By George, you are cute!”
“What’s so funny about my asking?”
“It’s called Arrowhead Inn, sweetness—and we’re going there for supper.”
“Oh!”
“Now I guess you think you’re not hungry?”