Haven't got any.
Well, there are two children in the house where I'm staying, run by a regular old timer from the South. She calls 'em Locomotive Ataxia and Dementia Precox. They like me. They already call me Unc' Byron.
You're taking up a lot of my time. Good heavens, Mary added to herself, I'm becoming coy!
I want to take up a lot more. Mary, may I call you Miss Love?
Please do, Byron, she assured him, laughing.
When may I come to see you?
She considered her answer. Her father would not be leaving until the next day.
Tomorrow night, if you like.
He shook his head vigorously. I'll come around tonight and wait.
She was firm. Tomorrow night.
What time?
Oh, around nine.
I'll be there at six-thirty.
For the remainder of the afternoon Mary enjoyed an unaccustomed spirit of elation. Making no more uplifting suggestions to her clients, she passed out books automatically. About four-thirty Gareth Johns arrived with Campaspe Lorillard and it afforded her a special kind of pleasure to exhibit the collection of African wood-carvings to these appreciative people. Mrs. Lorillard, in departing, promised to return with Edith Dale.
