“Oh—all right,” said Felix.
“You haven’t liked Clive ever since the wedding, have you?” observed Rose-Ann.
“He behaved so queerly!” said Felix. “But he does seem to have become rather human again.”
“People do behave queerly at weddings,” said Rose-Ann. “Always. If it isn’t one way, it’s another. They cry, or get drunk, or something. There’ve been four weddings in my family—five, with mine—and I can assure you this one was the sanest of the lot. And they always make the same jokes, too. You remember, when Clive offered to marry me himself—I’ve heard that one every time. I know you were bothered; but it’s the regular thing. People can’t help it. And it’s the regular thing, too, for the groom to be frightfully angry at his best man.”
“And it’s the regular thing for the young people to be perfectly crazy about their new house, too, I suppose,” Felix said thoughtfully. “Well—I’m glad if other people have as much fun about it all as we do!”
“Oh, but they don’t!” Rose-Ann said confidently.
2
Clive came, and saw, and approved. And after dinner, when the gate-legged table had been pushed back against the wall, and they were comfortably disposed about the fire, Rose-Ann said:
“Do you remember, Clive, you promised to tell us a story?”
“A story? Yes, so I did. Well, I will tell you a story about St. George and the Village Dragon.”