But Susy was firm. “He’s read me his first chapter: it’s wonderful. It’s a philosophic romance—rather like Marius, you know.”
“Oh, yes—I do!” said Strefford, with a laugh that she thought idiotic.
She flushed up like a child. “You’re stupid, Streffy. You forget that Nick and I don’t need alibis. We’ve got rid of all that hyprocrisy by agreeing that each will give the other a hand up when either of us wants a change. We’ve not married to spy and lie, and nag each other; we’ve formed a partnership for our mutual advantage.”
“I see; that’s capital. But how can you be sure that, when Nick wants a change, you’ll consider it for his advantage to have one?”
It was the point that had always secretly tormented Susy; she often wondered if it equally tormented Nick.
“I hope I shall have enough common sense—” she began.
“Oh, of course: common sense is what you’re both bound to base your argument on, whichever way you argue.”
This flash of insight disconcerted her, and she said, a little irritably: “What should you do then, if you married?—Hush, Streffy! I forbid you to shout like that—all the gondolas are stopping to look!”
“How can I help it?” He rocked backward and forward in his chair. “‘If you marry,’ she says: ‘Streffy, what have you decided to do if you suddenly become a raving maniac?’”
“I said no such thing. If your uncle and your cousin died, you’d marry to-morrow; you know you would.”