"What are you going to do this afternoon?" he asked.
"Mend."
"Mend what?"
"Stockings," said Olga.
"Great Scot!" said Max. "Do you mend the stockings of the entire family?"
"Including yours," said Olga.
"Oh, I say!" he protested. "That wasn't in the contract, was it? Pitch 'em into my room. I'll mend them myself or do without."
"One pair more or less doesn't make much difference," said Olga. "As to doing without,—well, of course, you're a man or you wouldn't make such a suggestion."
"You've thrown that in my teeth before," he observed. "I think you might remember that I am hardly responsible for my sex. It's my misfortune, not my fault."
She smiled, her sudden brief smile, but made no rejoinder.