“It will be dull enough here, at all events,” Alicia went on, pressing her slim patent-leather shoe into the turf with lazy emphasis as she walked, for Alicia was not bad-tempered, and took things easily; “but if Mary is going to be disagreeable—“
“You know, Alicia, that Mary has always lived here. It is in a truer sense her home than mine, but she would go directly if either you or she found it disagreeable. Had you not assented so cordially she would never have stayed.”
“Don’t imply extravagant things, Peter. Who thinks of her going?”
“She would—if you made it disagreeable.”
“I? I do nothing. Surely Mary won’t want to go because she scolds me.”
“Come, Ally, surely you don’t get scolded—more than is good for you.” Odd smiled down at her. Her burnished head was on a level with his eyes. “Like everybody else, you are not perfection, and, as Mary is somewhat of a disciplinarian, you ought to take her lectures in a humble spirit, and be thankful. I do. Mary is so much nearer perfection than I am.”
“I am afraid I shall be bored here, Peter.” Alicia left the subject of Mary for a still more intimate grievance.
“The art of not being bored requires patience, not to say genius. It can be learned though. And there are worse things than being bored.”
“I think I could bear anything better.”
“What would you like, Ally?” Odd’s voice held a certain hopefulness. “I’ll do anything I can, you know. I believe in a woman’s individuality and all that. Does your life down here crush your individuality, Alicia?”