“There are more ways than one of reaching the wildwood. I should take the machine myself, and start toward town; you would lightly board the trolley and ride to the end of the line; and then what would be more natural than that I should pick you up?” “That’s a delightful plan--ingenious and all that; but, my dear boy--suppose we should get smashed in the machine; then how would it look in the newspapers?” “It would look very well in the Boston papers to-morrow morning,” he said watching her narrowly. “It would serve notice on the Brodericks of your existence, which it is only polite to assume has not otherwise been brought to their attention.” “What else do you know?” she asked. “Oh, I know nothing. I’m only guessing. As you say, I’m something of a mind-reader. They’d probably forgotten that there is a Mrs. Craighill; they invited the Colonel to their house; he thought it might be awkward to have to bring Mrs. Craighill into it--to ask to have her included in the invitation--they being so eminent--so Mrs. Craighill, being the most amiable of wives, stays at home and knits!” “That does very well for an amateur.” “But what young woman of spirit”--he assumed an oratorical manner that suggested his father’s way of discoursing upon large topics--“what young woman of spirit, I ask, left forlorn with her knitting, would tamely submit to being snubbed? Does she not owe it to herself, to her womanhood--to the sex we all revere and love--to show her resentment and seek in any fashion that may please her the solace of companionship, the consolation of Nature!” She laughed with guarded mirth at this imitation of her husband. He had drawn close to her, and he bent down and took her hands. “You will go, won’t you? It will be just like those old times----” “Please don’t! Run away and stand over there, and I’ll tell you whether I like your plan or not.” When he had posted himself by the window, as far away as possible, she rose and went to the door, where she stood debating archly and watching him, biting her lip, tapping the floor lightly with her foot, her eyes dreamily bent upon him. “If you will be good--very, very good--I think I shouldn’t mind!” CHAPTER XVIII THE SNOW-STORM AT ROSEDALE “You haven’t seen the country yet; we will take a run for the hills,” he said when he had picked her up. “I might have brought my little racer, but this machine is more dignified. Besides, with the tonneau curtains drawn we look like a large party.”