"Don't repeat it, Sally! It always makes it worse to go over things. Whatever he said, you know that he didn't really mean it."
She dabbed her eyes, stopped weeping, and then turned on me!
"Of course you stick up for him—being a man!" she cried.
I mumbled something implying humility, and she relented a little.
"Oh! He does make me lose my temper, George! . . . I'm sorry I was horrid to you as well."
"I don't mind it a bit," I lied.
Sally suddenly began laughing.
"It's very foolish," she said. "We ought to know better at our age. . . . Anyway, I shall certainly return to England this week—if only you and Molly will back me up and come as well. Please, George!"
It was nice to think that someone relied on me. It was still nicer to think of home—comfort—and Nanny's efficient guardianship, after so much strife and worry. I was tired of Africa, its old men, and its monkeys.
So I gave Sally my promise of active support.