“I didn’t feel like working.” Frown and look at her defiantly. “Good Lord, why should a man work all the time? I hate the bloody office anyway, and you know it.”
She shakes her head at you, but smiles. “I ought to scold you. But I know too well how you feel.”
“Why don’t you lie down even if I am here? Go on over to the chaise-longue; I’ll tuck your feet up.”
“Gracious!” she cries. “You’ll have me spoiled if you’re too attentive. Bob hasn’t your touching respect for my age.”
Thump the chair as you bend over to arrange the quilt. “Alice, that isn’t funny. It never was funny. At any rate, you mustn’t tell Bob how nice I am to you, or his dislike of me will overflow all bounds. That would be a nuisance. I’d have to visit you in the afternoons all the time, and they wouldn’t like that at the damned office.”
“No, and you wouldn’t ever get to see my new dinner dress.”
Sit down on the edge of the chair. “And I’d have to stay away on week-ends; I’d have to start playing golf, and I hate it. It’s much nicer to come here and talk.”
She laughs. “Yes, I know you think so. You’d rather talk than do anything else, wouldn’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you?” you counter. “But this sub rosa arrangement might have its advantages. If I had to be furtive you might be forced to take me seriously.”
“You’re a silly little boy,” she says, looking worried.