“Well, if anybody left me two thousand pounds, I’d take an afternoon off to celebrate. Here we are in the suburbs again. Won’t you change your mind and your direction; let us get back into the country, sit down on the hillside, look at the Bay, and gloat over your wealth?”
Dorothy Amhurst shook her head and held out her hand.
“I must bid you good-by here, Lieutenant Drummond. This is my shortest way home.”
“May I not accompany you just a little farther?”
“Please, no, I wish to go the rest of the way alone.”
He held her hand, which she tried to withdraw, and spoke with animation.
“There’s so much I wanted to say, but perhaps the most important is this: I shall see you the night of the 14th, at the ball we are giving on the ‘Consternation’?”
“It is very likely,” laughed the girl, “unless you overlook me in the throng. There will be a great mob. I hear you have issued many invitations.”
“We hope all our friends will come. It’s going to be a great function. Your Secretary of the Navy has promised to look in on us, and our Ambassador from Washington will be there. I assure you we are doing our best, with festooned electric lights, hanging draperies, and all that, for we want to make the occasion at least remotely worthy of the hospitality we have received. Of course you have your card, but I wish you hadn’t, so that I might have the privilege of sending you one or more invitations.”
“That would be quite unnecessary,” said the girl, again with a slight laugh and heightened color.