"Love's first tiff," he sighed, laying down the hammer and beginning to fill his pipe.
"Love's what?"
"Tootsie-wootsie tiff, I believe I said"—this between puffs as the match flared high and low over the bowl. "You understand, of course, that Doloria gave the order."
"Confound you, why didn't you say so! What's happened? Did a message come?"
"Sure." He stopped smoking and looked at me. "A big limousine drove up with a note and flowers."
"Be serious," I thundered. "This isn't any time to joke!"
"When you talk about a paucity of intellect," he laughed softly, "it's a wonder you don't bite yourself."
"Oh, Tommy, please let up; I'm sorry, honest—I'm wretched, too!"
His manner changed then. Putting his arm through mine, he led me outside, going toward our landing.
"This is just the time to joke, old man," he said, when we reached it. "She made up her mind to leave, pronto! Why? Conscience said obey Monsieur, but heart said nixy! What's to do then? Start home quick, of course, before little heart gives old conscience the solar plexus! That's how I size it up!"