“Well, it’s lucky I was along, then.”
“Lucky isn’t just the word,” said I. “I feel already as if Twin Fires was as much yours as mine.”
Again she made no reply, except to ask when the train went back. But the train had long since gone back. It was nearly two o’clock, and we realized that we were hungry. So we gayly hunted out the hotel, and here I took command. “I’m going to order this lunch,” I declared, “and the expense go hang. We’ll have a regular spree, cocktails and all.”
The hotel was really a good one, and the presence of several motor parties gave the café almost a metropolitan appearance. The change from Mrs. Bert’s simple service to this was abrupt, and we were in the highest spirits. The cocktails came, and we clinked glasses.
“To Twin Fires!” said the girl.
“To the fairy godmother of Twin Fires!” said I.
Our eyes met as our glasses touched, and something electric passed between us. Then we drank.
“That is my first cocktail,” she laughed, as she set her glass down.
“Heavens!” I exclaimed, “and we in a public place!”
It was my first since I came to Bentford, and we both enjoyed the luxury of dissipation, and laughed brazenly at our enjoyment. Then the lunch came, and we enjoyed that, and then we caught a train, and half an hour later were walking toward the farm. We passed the golf links on the way, at the end of the beautiful, elm-hung main street of Bentford, and saw players striding over the green turf along the winding river.