"So I thought, but you said 'hasn't he?' And naturally I presumed that you were not quite certain."
She was evidently quizzing him, but her face was inscrutable. She looked only as if patiently and rather wearily explaining a misunderstanding. As she played with her fan, she had an unmistakable expression of being slightly bored.
"Madeline, do you know what I should say was the matter with you if you were a man?" he said, desperately, yet trying to laugh.
"Well, really"—and her eyes had a rather hard expression—"if you prefer gentlemen's society, you'd better seek it, instead of trying to get along by supposing me to be a gentleman."
"It seems as if I couldn't say anything right," said Henry.
"I think you do talk a little strangely," she admitted, with a faint smile. Her look was quite like that of an uncomplaining martyr.
"What's the matter with you to-night, Madeline? Tell me, for God's sake!" he cried, overcome with sudden grief and alarm.
"I thought I told you I had a headache, and I really wish you wouldn't use profane language," she replied, regarding him with lack-lustre eyes.
"And that's all? It's only a headache?"
"That's quite enough, I'm sure. Would you like me to have toothache besides?"