“No.”
“It's out on the north branch—only about a four-mile run from here. We can start out, say, at five o'clock, and take along something to eat. Then, if we don't feel like dancing, we can take a boat and row up the river.”
She rested her chin on her hands, and looked at him with a half smile. “Do you really mean all this, Mr. Bedloe?”
For reply, he reached over and took both her hands. “Will you go?”
“Don't do that, please. Do you know how old I am?”
“I don't care. What do you say?”
“Please don't. I hear some one.”
“No, it's a wagon. I want you to say yes.”
“You—you know what it would mean if—if—”
“If McGlory—Yes, I know. You're not afraid?”