Fenton threw back his head and burst into a shout of laughter.
"'Twere errant folly to presume,
Love's flame could burn and not consume,"
he sang, going off again into peals of laughter. "Good by, mon amie; oh, mais comment on s'en—"
"Stop," interrupted she. "I'll have no more blasphemy."
"Good-by, then," he said, picking up his hat.
"You may as well stay to lunch," his hostess said rising.
"No," returned he. "I must go and write to Edith."
And off he went, humming:
"'Twere errant folly to presume
Love's flame could burn and not consume."