It seemed unnecessary, too, because there were two steamer chairs under the rose arbor, side by side, and pillows sufficient for each.
And why a slim young girl should prefer to pillow her curly, yellow head upon the shoulder of a rather gaunt young man—the shoulder, presumably, being bony and uncomfortable—she alone could explain perhaps.
The young man did not appear to be inconvenienced. He caressed her hair while he spoke:
"From here to Belfort," he was saying in his musing, agreeable voice, "and from Belfort to Paris; and from Paris to London, and from London to Strathlone Head, and from Strathlone Head to Glenark Cliffs, and from Glenark Cliffs to Isla Water, and from Isla Water—to our home! Our home, Yellow-hair," he repeated. "What do you think of that?"
"I think you have forgotten the parson's house on the way. You are immoral, Kay."
"Can't a Yank sky-pilot in Paris—"
"Darling, I must have some clothing!"
"Can't you get things in Paris?"
"Yes, if you'll wait and not become impatient for Isla. And I warn you, Kay, I simply won't marry you until I have some decent gowns and underwear."
"You don't care for me as much as I do for you," he murmured in lazy happiness.