“You know I do——”
“And do you want me to love you?—I may, you know.”
“I want nothing else—but, Constance, I beg of you——”
“Then apply your gigantic intellect to the contemplation of what concerns you. To be short, mind your own business, and go home.”
“Please——”
“If you are not gone before I count five, I shall hate you. I am beginning—one—two——”
“Well, there is one satisfaction,” said George, abandoning the contest, “if you send it to a publisher to read, you will never see it again, nor hear of it.”
“I will stand over him while he reads it,” said Constance, laughing. “If you are good you can take me to the carriage—if not, go away.”
George walked by her side and helped her into the brougham that waited for her a short distance from the place where they had sat. He was utterly overcome by the novelty of the situation and did not even attempt to speak.
“It is a great book,” said Constance, speaking through the open window after he had shut the door. “Tell him to go home.”