“What have you to say to that pretty speech, John Armstrong?” asked Uncle Peabody.
“What can I say?” answered Jack, between mouth-fuls, “except that, speaking for myself, I am always much more romantic when I am not hungry. If Herself will indulge me for five minutes longer I will promise to be as sentimental as the most fastidious could desire.”
“I do not care for manufactured sentiment,” replied Helen; “and it is too late now anyway, for my own appetite has returned and my anger is appeased.”
“Miss Thayer evidently has not returned yet?” ventured Uncle Peabody, interrogatively, as the supper progressed.
“Yes, she is up-stairs in tears, and Ferdy has gone away to throw himself into the Arno,” Helen replied.
“Dear me, dear me!” murmured Uncle Peabody. “What a pity! I am not sure that I would have returned had I known that I should find so much trouble.”
“Now that you have had this much, I think I will let you in for the rest,” suggested Armstrong. “I will take you out to the garage after you have finished.”
“More trouble there?”
“Yes—punctured a tire on the way up the hill.”
“And you never said a word about it!” cried Helen. “No wonder you did not feel romantic!”