"No, I don't think I have," she laughed. "All the more credit if I bring it off! There'd be nothing to be proud of in making—oh, well, Andy Hayes, for instance—happy. He just is happy as long as he can be working at something or walking somewhere—it doesn't matter where—at five miles an hour—in the dust by preference. A girl would have nothing to do but just smile at him and send him for a walk. But you're different, aren't you, Harry?"
"By Jove, I am! Andy's one of the best fellows in the world."
"Yes, but I think—oh, it's only my view—that you're more interesting, Harry. Only, when you are bored, I want you—"
"Now don't say you want me to tell you so! Do let us be decently polite, even if I am your husband."
She laughed. "I won't strain your manners so far as that; I'm proud of their being so good myself. No, I want you just to go away and amuse yourself somewhere else till the fit's over. You may even flirt just a little, if you feel it really necessary, Harry! You needn't be quite so religiously strict all your life as you've been lately."
"Religiously strict? How do you mean?"
"Well, all this time I don't believe you've allowed yourself one good look at Isobel, though she's very good-looking; and I know you haven't called at the Lion yet, though Miss Flower has been there two days, and she such an old friend of yours in London."
"Have you called there?"
"Yes, I went yesterday. I like her so much, and I like that odd friend of hers too."
"Oh, Sally Dutton! I suppose she got her knife into me, didn't she?"