"But—Porter!"
"I've a lot to say. And we are going to ride around the Speedway while I say it."
"But—it's raining."
"All the better. It will be we two and the world away, Mary."
"And there isn't anything to say."
"Oh, yes, there is—oodles."
"And Aunt Isabelle will be worried."
He drew the rug up around her and settled back as placidly as if the hands on the moon face of the clock on the post-office tower were not pointing to midnight. "Aunt Isabelle has been told," he informed her, "that you may be a bit late. I wrote it on the supper card, and she read it—and smiled."
He waited in silence until they had left the avenue, and were on the driveway back of the Treasury which leads toward the river.
"Porter, this is a wild thing to do."