“Excuse me. I did not mean to fly out at you.”
“It’s rather odd that we so seldom meet now without getting on this subject and having a row. Has that struck you at all?”
Marian turned to the fire, and remained silent.
“Listen to me, Marian. You are in the blues. Why dont you go to Ned, and tell him that he is a cast-iron walking machine, and that you are unhappy, and want the society of a flesh-and-blood man? Have a furious scene with him, and all will come right.”
“It is very easy to talk. I could not go to him and make myself ridiculous like that: the words would choke me. Besides, I am not unhappy.”
“What a lie! You wicked woman! A moment ago you were contemning all prudence; and now you will not speak your mind because you are afraid of being ridiculous. What is that but observing the wind and regarding the clouds, I should like to know?”
“I wish you would not speak harshly to me, even in jest. It hurts me.”
“Serve you right! I am not a bit remorseful. No matter: let us talk of something else. Where did those flowers come from?”
“Douglas sent them. I am going to the theatre to-night; and I wanted a bouquet.”
“Very kind of him. I wonder he did not bring it himself. He rarely misses an excuse for coming.”