Annie could not help laughing,—a little, quiet, Sunday morning sort of a laugh,—but she was beginning to think her brother's friend was not a bad specimen of a Long Island "country boy." Ford, indeed, had come home, the previous evening, from a long conference with Dab, brimful of the proposed yachting cruise, and his father had freely given his consent, much against the will of Mrs. Foster.
"My dear," said the lawyer, "I feel sure a woman of Mrs. Kinzer's good sense would not permit her son to go out in that way if she did not feel safe about him. He's been brought up to it, you know, and so has the colored boy who is to go with them."
"Yes, mother," argued Ford, "there isn't half the danger there is in driving around New York in a carriage."
"There might be a storm."
"The horses might run away."
"Or you might upset."
"So might a carriage."
But the end of it all was that Ford was to go, and Annie was more than half sorry she could not go with him. She said so to Dabney, as soon as her little laugh was ended, that Sunday morning.
"Some time or other, I'd be glad to have you," replied Dab, "but not this trip."
"Why not?"