She hesitated. Minot bit his lip savagely. Must he hear all that again? How much she owed him for his service—for getting her to that luncheon in time—that wonderful luncheon—
"I owe you," finished the girl softly, "the charges on that taxi."
It was something of a shock to Minot. Was she making game of him?
"Don't," he answered. "Here in the moonlight, with that waltz playing, and the old palms whispering—is this a time to talk of taxi bills?"
"But—we must talk of something—oh, I mean—I insist. Won't you please tell me the figure?"
"All the time we were together this morning, I talked figures—the figures on the face of a watch. Let us find some pleasanter topic. I believe Lord Harrowby said you were to be married soon?"
"Next Tuesday. A week from to-morrow."
"In Sad Marco?"
"Yes. It breaks auntie's heart that it can't be in Detroit. Lord Harrowby is her triumph, you see. But father can't go north, in the winter—and Allan wishes to be married at once."
