She stood struck silent by the laughing banter of his tone, but she made no answer.
"Because, if you ever do," he continued in the same voice, "you'll do well to remember the way you spoke then. It'll be very fetching in a play."
The color faded in her cheeks, and her whole manner changed from defiance to humiliation; her lip quivered with quick emotion, and an almost childish expression of woe made pathetic her mobile face. She dropped back into her chair, and the tears started in her eyes.
"Oh, I don't think you've any right to tease me," she quavered in a voice that had almost escaped from control. "I'm sure I feel bad enough about it."
Jack's face sobered a little, although the mocking light of humor did not entirely vanish from his eyes.
"There, there," he said in a soothing voice; "don't cry, May, whatever you do. The modern husband hates tears, but instead of giving in to them, he gets cross and clears out. Don't cry before the man you marry, or," he added, a fresh smile lighting his face, "even before the man you are engaged to."
"I didn't mean to be so foolish," May responded, choking down her rebellious emotions. "I'm all upset."
"I don't wonder. Now to go back to this letter. Of course I shouldn't think of reading it without your leave, but I supposed you'd think it proper under the circumstances to tell me to read it. I thought you'd say: 'Dearest, I have no secrets from thee! Read!' or something of that sort, you know."
He was perhaps playing now to cheer May up, for he delivered this in a mock-heroic style, with an absurd gesture. At least the effect was to evoke a laugh which came tear-sparkling as a lark flies dew-besprent from a hawthorn bush at morn.
She rallied a little, and spoke with more self-command.