“You get younger every day, Steve,” grudgingly. “If you keep on going backward people will be taking me for your mother soon instead of—merely myself.”
“You shouldn’t go away then, Elice. I’m tickled sick and irresponsible almost to have you back. I’m not to blame. But we’re losing valuable time. I’m listening.”
“You swear that you don’t know already—that you aren’t merely making fun of me?”
“On my honor as full professor of chemistry. I haven’t even a suspicion.”
“I wonder if you are serious—somehow I never know. I’ll risk it anyway, and if you’re just leading me on I’ll never forgive you, Steve, never. It’s Margery.”
“Margery! The deuce it is—and Harry Randall, of course.”
“Certainly. Who’d you think it was: Professor Wilson with his eight children?”
“Now I call that unkind, Elice. After all the interest I’ve shown, too! Honest, though, I am struck all in a heap. I never dreamed of such a thing—now.” 37
The result of the revelation was adequate and Miss Gleason relented.
“It was rather ‘sudden,’ as they say. No one knew of it except their own families.”