"Yes, I confess it, Barbara."
"And I confess that I was in the wrong. Now, we are equal."
After a pause:
"No one is quite perfect, John."
"It is not within human limits, Barbara."
"We agree—we agree!" she danced about the room in delight. "Isn't it delightful? Oh, I was beginning to despair!"
There was really something childlike in her voice and manner, and I followed her movements with admiration. Suddenly she stopped, and throwing herself on the sofa, hid her face in the cushion, and began to sob.
It was the first time that an act of mine had caused a woman to sob, and it unmanned me. I sat by her side and soothed her with awkward, endearing words, and my efforts were rewarded; she became calmer.
"It is so sweet, so sweet, when you are like this!" she murmured, and dried her eyes. "You are my dear old boy again, just as you were before we were married. Oh, John, why did you go over my boxes on the sly?"
"It was wrong; I have confessed it."