"Been kind of rough about it, has he?" says I.

"He's been perfectly awful!" says she. "Sulking around as though I'd
done something terrible! But I'll pay him up. Come, you're not going
back tonight, are you?"

"Can't," says I. "No train."

"Then you must play with me," says she, grabbin' my hand kittenish and
startin' to run me across the yard.

"But, see here," says I, followin' her on the jump. "Where's Hubby?"

"Oh, I don't know," says she. "Off tramping through the woods with his
dog, I suppose. He's sulking, as usual. And all because I insisted on
writing to Oggie! Then there was something about the servants. I
don't know, only things went wrong at breakfast, and some of them have
threatened to leave. Who cares? Yesterday it was about the tennis
court. What if he did telegraph to have it laid out? I couldn't play
when I found I hadn't brought any tennis shoes, could I? Besides,
there's no fun playing against Nick, he's such a shark. He didn't like
it, either, because I wouldn't use the baby golf course. But I will
with you. Come on."

"I never did much putting," says I.

"Nor I," says she; "but we can try."

Three or four holes was enough for her, though, and then she has a new