"It certainly would," he replied. "And it is very nice in you to care about it."
"It would not be nice in me not to care," she said. "Just for a moment, you know, it actually sounded quite—quite married. It seemed as if we were on the verge of agreeing to differ about—Senator Planefield."
"We won't do it again," he said. "We will agree to make the best of him."
She hesitated a second.
"I will try not to make the worst," she returned. "There is always a best, I suppose. And so long as you are here to take care of me, I need not—need not be uncomfortable."
"About what?" he asked.
She hesitated again, and a shade of new color touched her cheek.
"I don't think I am over-fastidious," she said, "but he has a way I don't like. He is too fulsome. He admires me too much. He pays me too many compliments. I wish he would not do it."
"Oh! come, now," he said, gayly, "that is prejudice! It is worse than all the rest. I never heard you complain of your admirers before, or of their compliments."