She laughed—her sweet, low laugh. "Surely I do! I'm one of them."
He made a sharp gesture. "That's just what you are not. I say, Miss Moore, don't read this book! It won't do you any good, and it'll make you very angry. You'll call it cynical, insincere, cold-blooded. It will hurt your feelings horribly."
"I don't think so," said Juliet. "You forget,—I am no longer—a marionette. I have come to life."
Again she held out her hand for the book. He gave it to her reluctantly.
"Don't read it!" he said.
She shook her head, still smiling. "No, Mr. Green, I'm not going to let you censor my reading. I will tell you what I think of it next time we meet."
"Don't!" he said again very earnestly.
But Juliet would not yield. She stooped again over Columbus and fondled his ear.
Green stood looking down at her, his dark face somewhat grim, his eyes extremely bright.
"I believe he's cross with us, Christopher," murmured Juliet. "Never mind, old thing! We shall get over it if he doesn't. Being cross always hurts oneself the most. We're—never cross, are we, Christopher? We please ourselves and we please each other—always."