“But your father?” insisted Patience.
“Oh, he may rage and fume,” retorted Harry, “but I have a standing of my own. I am president of the Lake City Electric Company that controls dad’s patent light.”
“My father was interested in electricity, too—before—”
But Harry interrupted her. “Never mind our fathers,” he said. “We are the chief characters in this romance, you know.”
They had reached the path leading to the Welcome cottage. Patience, eager to end the interview which had thrown her into a state of consternation, such as she had never experienced before, seized the present opportunity.
“Harry,” she said, “please go. We are expecting father home and—I’m afraid—it won’t be pleasant.”
“You haven’t answered me. I’m off to Chicago tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Patience caught her breath quickly.
“Yes, in my new car. I’m going to drive back. I’ve overstayed my time and there are business calls which I simply cannot ignore. I’ll not insist on an answer tonight, but will you write me?”
The girl put out her hand which Harry grasped. Her lips quivered and she breathed, “Yes.”