She insists she is going to take the trip with us. That she can buy her trousseau abroad, and come back and settle down. I am not sure that Neale will stand for it. But Sally's elusiveness may have its charm."
"I hate that type of man." Hildegarde blazed: "If he loves Sally, why should it increase his interest to have her want to run away from him?"
"The eternal masculine—my dear—"
"Crispin isn't like that—"
His face darkened. "Young Lohengrin? How do you know? You fly from him and he follows—."
"He cared when I didn't fly."
"Oh, well . . . we won't argue. And wait until you see Paris. You'll love it, and the life we'll lead. It doesn't take much money—and there's color to it, and glow. You'll forget the Puritan in you and be pure pagan for a bit. And we'll play together."
He laughed light-heartedly: "Wait till you see—Paris," he said again.
She found herself laughing with him. She had always dreamed of Paris . . . ! was she going to let that dream be spoiled by a vision of an old oak, a streaming wind, flying leaves, and a young and laughing figure?
