“Very well,” he said. “I’ll give you enough to last a week—then you’ll have to come home.”
“You say you’ll give me enough to last a week?” the girl repeated questioningly. “I’ll take what I want—it’s as much mine as yours!”
“But you don’t get any more than I’m going to give you. I won’t have you gone more than a week. I can’t live without you—don’t you understand? I believe you have a wooden heart, or none at all!”
“Oh,” she said, yawning, “you can get some other poor fool to peddle it for you if I don’t come back; but I’m coming, never fear. You’re as bad as the snow—I hate you both, but I can’t live without either of you. I don’t feel like quarreling, Wilson. Give me the stuff—enough to last a week, for I’ll be home before that.”
He went to the bathroom and made a little package up for her.
“Here!” he said, returning to the living room. “That ought to last you a week.”
She took it and slipped it into her case.
“Well, good-by,” she said, turning toward the door.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me good-by?” he asked.
“Have I ever kissed you, since I learned that you had a wife?” she asked.