"You are—and you are tied to your mother's apron strings."
"Dicky," she wailed, as he rose in wrath, "I didn't mean that. Honestly. And I'll be good."
Still, with her feet tucked under her, she sat on the floor. "I've been thinking——"
"Yes, Eve."
"You and I have a birthday in March. Why can't we have a big house-warming, and ask all the county families and a lot of people from town?"
"I'm not a millionaire, Eve."
"Neither am I. But there's always Aunt Maude."
She spread out her hands, palms upward. "All I shall have to do is to wheedle her a bit, and she'll give it to me for a birthday present. Please, Dicky. If you say 'yes' I'll go down to Bower's my very own self and ask Anne Warfield to come to our ball."
He stared at her incredulously. "You'll do what?"
"Ask your little—school-teacher. Win scolded me last night, and said that I was a selfish pig. That I couldn't expect to keep you always to myself. But you see I have kept you, Dicky. I have always thought that you and I could go on being—friends, with no one to break in on it."