"But," continued Paul, "when you suddenly—without any apparent reason—develop an abnormal craving for the society of Jones or Smith, coupled with an equally inexplicable aversion to the sight of me, I cannot for the life of me make out what I have done to offend you; and my days are made wretched and my nights hideous by dreams of suicide and agonies of remorse."
Isabel laughed. "If you are clever enough to see through my little game, why does it make you so miserable?" she asked.
"That is where I am such an ass! Although, by this time, I have learnt the reason of your intermittent attachments to Jones or Smith, nothing but the customs of good society—grafted on to an early religious training—keeps me from punching of heads and shedding of blood every time I see you smile on the brutes."
"You dear man, you really are very nice!"
"So are you, when you don't think that a course of jealousy is necessary to my moral training," added Paul.
"It isn't good for you to have everything your own way," said Isabel reprovingly.
"If you want to see how I look when I am being hurt, tell me so, and I will go and have a tooth out," said Paul pleasantly, "I should much prefer that, to seeing you talk to the sort of idiots you flirt with sometimes."
"You are a very obliging young man!"
"I am. True, this plan can only be carried out thirty-two times, for obvious reasons; but I daresay we shall think of something else for the thirty-third, if only you will be patient."
"Does it really hurt much when I am nasty to you?" inquired Isabel.