He smiled in benevolent pity. "You know, do you? If you made any coffee—don't bother if you didn't. Get some down-town." He seemed about to rise and depart; whereupon Alice, biting her lip, sent a panic-stricken glance at her mother.
But Mrs. Adams seemed not at all disturbed; and laughed again. "Why, what nonsense, Walter! I'll bring your coffee in a few minutes, but we're going to have dessert first."
"What sort?"
"Some lovely peaches."
"Doe' want 'ny canned peaches," said the frank Walter, moving back his chair. "G'-night."
"Walter! It doesn't begin till about nine o'clock at the earliest."
He paused, mystified. "What doesn't?"
"The dance."
"What dance?"
"Why, Mildred Palmer's dance, of course."
Walter laughed briefly. "What's that to me?"
"Why, you haven't forgotten it's to-night, have you?" Mrs. Adams cried. "What a boy!"
"I told you a week ago I wasn't going to that ole dance," he returned, frowning, "You heard me."
