'These sand-flies are fierce,' said Henry. 'You girls better take our handkerchiefs.'
They circled on lawns to avoid the swirling, crunching, softly suffocating clouds of insects. Nearer the lake it grew worse. At the corner of Chestnut and Simpson they stopped short. Mrs Henderson, pressing the handkerchief to her face, clung in humorous helplessness to Humphrey's arm.
He looked down at her. Suddenly he stooped, gathered her up in his arms as if she were a child, and carried her clear through the plague into the shadows of Chestnut Avenue.
Henry, running with Corinne pressing close on his arm, caught a glimpse of his face. The expression on it added a touch of alarm to the pæan of joy in Henry's brain.
They stepped within the Henderson screen door to say good-night.
'Let's do something to-morrow night—walk or go biking or row on the lake,' said Mrs Henderson. 'You two had better come down for dinner. Any time after six.'
'How about you?' Henry whispered to Corinne. 'Do you want me to come... Will and Fred...'
Corinne's firm long hand slipped for a moment into his. He gripped it. The pressure was returned.
'Don't be silly!' she breathed, close to his ear.