"Oh," said Honor, gasping, pushing him away with her hands against his chest—"you wouldn't have had time!"
"I could have dropped Spanish or Math'," he grinned. "Come on,—let's go further up the coast. Some of those kids will be tagging after us, or Carter."
"Not Carter. Stepper's reading to him. He won't let him come."
"One peach of a scout, Stephen Lorimer is," said the boy, warmly. "Best scout in the world."
"He's the best friend we've got in the world, Jimsy," she said gravely.
"I know it. Your mother's pretty much peeved about it, Skipper."
"Yes, she is, just now. Poor Muzzie! I'm afraid I've never pleased her very much. But she gets over things. She'll get over it when—when she finds that we don't get over it!" She held out her hand to him and he took it in a hard grip, and they swung along at a fine stride, up the twisting shore road. They came at last to the great gate which led into the Malibou Ranch and they halted there and went down into a little pocket of rocks and sand and sun and sat down with their faces to the shining sea.
He kissed her again. "No; you can't go to Italy, Skipper. That's settled."
"Then—what are we going to do, Jimsy dear?"