I like all Scott’s dinners, it’s he who doesn’t like mine! He’s the intolerant one.”
“True for you, Louie,” laughed the Professor.
“And it’s that way about lots of things,” said Louie a little plaintively.
“Kitty,” said Scott as they were driving home that night, Kathleen in the driver’s seat beside him, “that silver bracelet Louie spoke of was one of Tom’s trinkets, wasn’t it? Do you suppose she has some feeling for him still, under all this pompuosity?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. But, oh, Scott, I do love you very much!” she cried vehemently.
He pinched off his driving-glove between his knees and snuggled his hand over hers, inside her muff. “Sure?” he muttered.
“Yes, I do !” she said fiercely, squeezing his knuckles together with all her might.
“Awful nice of you to have told me all about it at the start, Kitty. Most girls wouldn’t have thought it necessary. I’m the only one who knows, ain’t I?”
“The only one who ever has known.”
“And I’m just the one another girl wouldn’t have told. Why did you, Kit?”
“I don’t know. I suppose even then I must have had a feeling that you were the real one.” Her head dropped on his shoulder. “You know you are the real one, don’t you?”
“I guess!”