"Where?"
"To church."
Meriweather's eyes weighed the pair of them. Happy? More than that. Radiant! And he had been dancing with Sally! Sally, dead for sleep and a little dazed, the doll, Sarah, cradled in her arms. And here was Hildegarde with the radiance of Crispin's love-making upon her. Meriweather knew it must be that.
His voice held a touch of irritation. "Oh, well, get in. I'll take you home."
"We don't want to be taken. We'd rather walk, Merry."
He was insistent. "Don't be selfish. Sally is too tired to be companionable." At last Hildegarde got in and sat beside Meriweather, Crispin on the back seat with Sally and the doll.
"Sarah is thoroughly ashamed of me," Sally said. "I suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself. Staying out until morning. But everybody does it. And I'm dead for sleep."
She was silent after that, and Crispin was glad not to have her talk. He was content to sit there silent, with Hildegarde in front of him—to see the soft wave of her hair against her cheek, to catch the murmur of her voice as she talked with Meriweather.
When they came to the house, Sally went at once to her room. Meriweather had taken the car round to the garage, so for the moment Crispin was alone with Hildegarde.
He took up the conversation where they had left off when the big car whirled up. "You called me
