"Not at all," he replied, with a smile. "Why should it? They do not interfere with me——"
"No, nothing is permitted to interfere with you," she broke in, with a sudden bitterness. "So that you are left alone, you are—satisfied. Is that not so, Blair?"
"What do you wish me to do?" he asked, with grave earnestness. "Believe me, Violet, you have only to express a wish——"
"And you will gratify it. I know!" she retorted, with a laugh that seemed hard and cold. "You are the model husband they all declare you, Blair. No, I haven't a wish, excepting, perhaps—but it isn't worth mentioning."
"What is it?" He forced a laugh, and put his hand on her arm with a caress that was gentle enough, if it had no love in it. "Our old selves have a trick of disappearing, Violet," he said, "and once they are gone——" he stopped significantly. "And I think most people would admit that it is a good thing my old self cannot come back!"
"Not I!" she said, in a low, quiet voice. "I would rather have you as you were. Yes; I know!—with all your wildness. I would rather you were unkind to me—struck me!—than as you are."
He half rose, then sank back again with a troubled sigh.
"You are wild enough for us both to-night, Violet," he said, trying to speak lightly. "Have you been reading some of the latest romances, or is it the professor's music that has affected you?"
She looked at him fixedly, and the color died out from her face, leaving it waxen pale.