Roberts did not insist, nor did he dissimulate.
“As you wish. I meant it or I shouldn’t have made the suggestion. Better glue on your hair if you accept, Elice. I have a presentiment 222 that I’ll let her out to-day.” He started down the walk. “I’m ready when you are.”
Behind him the man and the girl exchanged one look.
“Come, Steve,” said the girl in a low voice. “I ask it.”
“No,” Armstrong’s thin face formed a smile, a forced, crooked smile; “I meant what I said, too, or I wouldn’t have refused. Likewise I also have a presentiment—of a different kind. Good-bye.”
“Steve!”
“No.”
And that was all.
Out in the long street, University Row, glided the big red roadster; slowly through the city limits, more rapidly through the suburbs, then, as the open country beyond came to view, it began gradually to find itself.
“Want to see her go, do you, Elice?” asked Roberts, as the town behind them grew indistinct in a fog of dust.