“You always do put things through,” said I admiringly. “When have you planned to start?”
“I haven’t planned at all, as yet,” replied she—and I saw she thought I had set a trap for her, and was delighted with herself for having dodged it. Certainly never was there a husband with whom indirection was more unnecessary. Yet she would not realize this, partly because she had never bothered to discover what manner of man I was, partly because she had one of those natures that move only by secrecy and indirection.
“Do you expect me to go over with you?” inquired I.
“I only wish you would!” exclaimed she, but I distrusted her enthusiasm.
“Couldn’t MacIlvane take you over and settle you?”
Her face clouded. Her lip curled slightly. “I don’t like him as I did,” said she. “I’ve found out he’s ridiculously vain and egotistical.”
I laughed outright.
“What is it?” inquired she, elevating her eyebrows. She had always disapproved my sense of humor.
“So he’s been making love to you—eh?” said I.
“No, indeed!” cried she, bridling haughtily. “He’d not dare. But I saw he was beginning to presume in that direction, and I checked him.”