‘How you like them,’ Alfred amended. ‘Yes, that was it. Well, then?’
‘Well, then—I like your mother. She has eyes like yours, Alfred, large and still and kind, and she is big and motherly.’
‘Then, oh, my darling, why on earth didn’t you kiss her?’
‘Kiss her? Not me! Why should I?’
‘She meant to kiss you; I saw she did.’
‘Don’t you believe it! Even if she had, it would have been only for your sake. You wait a little bit; wait till she knows me, and if she wants to kiss me then—let her!’
Alfred was pained by his young wife’s tone; he had never before heard her speak so strangely, and her eyes were wistful. He did not quite understand her, but he did not try to, then; he varied the subject.
‘How about Gran?’
‘Oh, that Gran!’ cried Gladys. ‘I can’t suffer him at all.’
‘Can’t suffer Gran! What on earth do you mean, Gladys?’