I took out a cigarette and lit it with trembling fingers as she crumpled the handkerchief into a small ball and threw it over the side of the car. Then she took the cigarette from my mouth and placed it between her lips.
"I still want you," I said.
She gave the cigarette back to me and shook her head.
"Why?" I asked.
She turned her face toward me. It shone palely in the dark.
"Because in two days I'm going home.
Because in the stock-market crash of twenty-three, my father lost everything.
Because I must find and marry a rich husband. I must do nothing to endanger that."
I stared at her for a moment, then started the engine.
I backed the car out of the date grove and set it on the road for home.
I didn't say anything but I had all the answers for her.
I was rich. Or I would be someday.
I left Rina in the parlor and went into my father's study.
As usual, he was working at his desk, the single lamp throwing its light down on the papers.
He looked up as I came in.
"Yes?" he asked, as if I were someone in his office who had intruded in the midst of a problem.
I hit the wall switch and flooded the room with light.
"I want to get married," I said.
He looked at me for a moment as if he was far away. He had been, but he came back fast.
"You're crazy," he said unemotionally. He looked down at his desk again. "Go to bed and don't bother me."
I stood there.
"I mean it, Dad," I said.
It was the first time I had called him that since I was a kid.
He got to his feet slowly.
"No," he said. "You're too young."
That was all he said.
It would never occur to him to ask who, what, why.
No, only I was too young.
"All right, Father," I said, turning toward the door. "Remember I asked you."
"Wait a minute," he said. I stopped, my hand on the doorknob. "Where is she?"
"Waiting in the parlor," I answered.
He looked at me shrewdly.
"When did you decide?"
"Tonight," I answered. "Just tonight."
"I suppose she's one of those silly little girls who show up at the club dance and she's waiting on pins and needles to meet the old man?" he asked.
I rose to her defense.
"She's not like that at all.
As a matter of fact, she doesn't even know that I'm in here asking you."
"You mean you haven't even asked her yet?"
"I don't have to," I answered, with the supreme confidence of my years. "I know her answer."
My father shook his head.
"Just for the record, don't you think you had better ask her?"
I went out and brought Rina back into the room.
"Rina, this is my father; Father, this is Rina Marlowe."
Rina nodded politely.
For all you could tell from her manner, it could have been high noon instead of two o'clock in the morning.
Father looked at her thoughtfully.
There was a curious expression on his face I had never seen before.
He came around his desk and held out his hand to her.
"How do you do, Miss Marlowe?" he said in a soft voice.