"In a great many ways. He's a restful man. There's a beautiful simplicity about his thoughts; and——"
"And he works?"
"You're trying to make me cross, Christo; but I don't think you will again."
"Ah! I have to thank him for that too! He's making you see how small it is to be cross with me. He's enlarging your mind, lifting it to the stars, burying it in the bogs, teaching you all about rainbows and tadpoles. He'll soak the sunshine out of your life if you're not careful; and then you'll grow as self-contained and sensible and perfect as he is."
"After which you won't want me any more, I suppose?"
"No—then you'd only be fit for—well, for him."
"I don't love you in these sneering moods, Christo. Why cannot you speak plainly? You've got some imaginary grievance. What is it?"
"I never said so. But—well, I have. I honestly believe I'm jealous—jealous of this superior man."
"You child!"
"There it is! It's come to that. I wasn't a child in your eyes a month ago. But I shall be called an infant in arms at this rate in another month."