“I’m not very hungry,” she ventured doubtfully.
“Oh, but you will be! I’ll wrap the rug about you tightly and open the window, and by the time we get there you’ll be ready to eat shoe leather.”
“Very well,” she smiled at him faintly, as he opened the window and tucked the bearskin robe about her. “But will they allow Bébé in the dining room?” She clutched weakly at a last hope.
“We’ll smuggle him under my coat, that’ll be half the fun! And if they put us out, that will be still more fun!”
His unaffected gayety was contagious.
“You are grimly determined to have a good time, whatever happens, aren’t you?” she said with an ironic lift of the delicate brows.
They glided back on to the road.
“It isn’t every day I have lunch with a pretty girl. My Sundays are lonesome and monotonous,” replied the doctor simply.
Claire looked at him in amazement.
“A pretty girl!” she stammered almost indignantly. That was trying to humor her a little too far!