Robert shifted his chair and Trixie’s foot slipped to the gravel. He re-tied his lanyard with great particularity, humming a tune. Trixie, fearful of the reply, drew a heart with the ferrule of her parasol on the gravel.
“Not me!” he said decidedly.
The heart on the gravel found itself rubbed out sharply and rendered illegible.
“You think it over, dear,” said Trixie Bell.
“I shan’t think it over,” replied Robert Lancaster sturdily. “It’d be a mean trick to do after all they’ve spent on my training.”
“I don’t see how it would affect them.”
“I’m not going to do it, Trixie.”
“So long as you earn a honest living—”
“Look ’ere,” burst out Robert impetuously, “I can’t argue with girls. My mind’s quite made up, and I’m not going to alter it.”
“That means, then,” said Miss Bell, swallowing something, “that you don’t care for me.”