Dwight looked at Lulu, an upward, sidewise look, with a manner of peering out to see if she meant it. And he saw.
He shrugged, pursed his lips crookedly, rolled his head to signify the inexpressible. "Isn't that like a woman?" he demanded. He rose. "Rather than let you in for a show of temper," he said grandly, "I'd do anything."
He wrote the letter, addressed it, his hand elaborately curved in secrecy about the envelope, pocketed it.
"Ina and I'll walk down with you to mail it," said Lulu.
Dwight hesitated, frowned. His Ina watched him with consulting brows.
"I was going," said Dwight, "to propose a little stroll before bedtime." He roved about the room. "Where's my beautiful straw hat? There's nothing like a brisk walk to induce sound, restful sleep," he told them. He hummed a bar.
"You'll be all right, mother?" Lulu asked.
Mrs. Bett did not look up. "These cardamon hev got a little mite too dry," she said.
In their room, Ina and Dwight discussed the incredible actions of Lulu.