"All right—where shall we go?" the old man asked.
"Hadn't you decided that?"
"Well, the girls said they would tell me."
"We were going home," said Francie.
"No we weren't—not a bit!" Delia declared.
"Oh, not there," Gaston murmured, pathetically, looking at Francie.
"Well, when you've fixed it you can take the tickets," Mr. Dosson observed.
"To some place where there are no newspapers," Gaston went on.
"I guess you'll have hard work to find one."
"Dear me, we needn't read them! We wouldn't have read that one if your family hadn't forced us," Delia said to her prospective brother-in-law.
"Well, I shall never be forced—I shall never again in my life look at one," he replied.
"You'll see—you'll have to!" laughed Mr. Dosson.
"No, you'll tell us enough."
Francie had her eyes on the ground; they were all smiling but she. "Won't they forgive me, ever?" she asked, looking up.
"Yes, perfectly, if you can persuade me not to marry you. But in that case what good will their forgiveness do you?"
"Well, perhaps it's better to pay for it."
"To pay for it?"
"By suffering something. For it was dreadful."
