"Brute!" says she. "I'm glad she's found you."
With which she dashes towards the house and disappears, leavin' Mr. Robert gawpin' after her.
"Why," says he, "you—you don't suppose she could have imagined that—that——"
"Maybe she did," says I. "My fault, I expect. I could find her, though, and explain how it was. I'll bet that inside of five minutes she'd be back here finishin' the floral wreath. Shall I?"
"Back here?" he echoes, kind of vague. Then he comes to.
"No, no!" says he. "I—I'd rather not. I want first to—— Where is Miss Hampton, Torchy?"
Well, I gives him full directions for findin' her, slips Mrs. Ryan the twenty he sends her instead of news from hubby, and then goes in, to find that Ella May is demandin' to be taken to the next train. We saw that she caught it, too, before she changed her mind.
"By George!" Mr. Robert whispers confidential to me, as the limousine rolls off with her in it, "if I could insure against such risks as that, I would take out a policy."
"You can," says I. "Any justice of the peace or minister will fix you up for life."
Does that sink in? I wouldn't wonder. Anyway, from the hasty glimpse I caught of him and Miss Hampton strollin' out in the moonlight that night, it looked that way.