"Let me try and awaken yours towards the living!" he said.
She laughed.
"Are you smitten with the Brooks' fever?" she asked.
"Mine is a fever," he answered, "but it has nothing to do with Brooks. I would try to awaken your charity on behalf of a perfectly worthy object, myself—/vide/ the /St. James's Gazette/."
"And what do you need from me more than you have?" she asked. "Haven't you the sole possession of my society, the right to bore me or make me happy, perhaps presently the right to feed me?"
"For a few minutes," he answered.
"Don't be so sure. It may be an hour."
"I want it," he said, "for longer."
Something in his tone suddenly broke through the easy lightness of their conversation. She stole a swift side-glance at him, and understood.
"Come," she said, "you and I are setting every one here a bad example. This is not an occasion for /tete-a-tetes/. We should be doing our duty and talking a little to every one. Let us go back and make up for lost time."