3
Rose-Ann began to cry.
“We’ve spoiled it all,” she said.
“How have we spoiled it?” he asked tenderly but troubledly. “You love me....”
“I love you.... I think so. Or at least I was terribly lonely for you. But—”
“But what?”
“This only makes it so much harder. This—this hasn’t changed my mind, Felix.” She sat up on the couch.
“I shall never let you leave me now.”
“I’m afraid—you’ll have to find some other way of keeping me.”
“I shall,” he said defiantly.
“I—hope so, Felix.... I wish I could feel that I was really and truly your wife. I don’t—yet.”
“Then,” he said slowly, “play at being my wife—for a while. Can you do that?”
“I’ve played at it for nearly two years. It was nice enough. I guess I can—a little longer. Do you suppose that is what it will come to?—just playing at being married, Felix?”
“No. Never. We’ll find the answer this time.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to talk everything out....”
“We’ve talked so often, Felix!”
“Once more!”
“Yes ... but not now. Let’s play at being happy first. Shall we go outdoors?”
“Yes.”
“And have our tea.... Felix, you will love the palm-trees! I’ll put on my prettiest frock—for you.”