“Come,” he said briefly, “let’s get out of this.”
“You mustn’t use that tone to me. It’s extremely annoying.”
“You’re mischievous,” he growled.
“Am I?” with derisive sweetness. “I hadn’t meant to be. Perhaps my infatuation has blinded me. I’m really very badly in love with you, Phil. And you must see that it’s extremely unpleasant for me to discover that you’re in love with somebody else. You know I can’t yield placidly. I’m not the placid kind. I may be in advance of my generation, but I’m sure if I had my way I’d abduct you to-night in the motor and fly to Hoboken.”
Gallatin laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was too absurd. And her mocking effrontery made it difficult for him to remember that a moment ago he had thought her serious.
“Fortunately, I am capable of moderating my emotions,” she went on. “My heart may be beating wildly, but behold me quietly submissive to your decision. All I ask is that you won’t offer to be a brother to me, Phil. I really couldn’t stand for that.”
“Nina, you’re the limit.”
“I know I am—I’m excited. It’s the outward and visible expression of inward and spiritual dissolution. What would you advise, Paris green or a leap from the Metropolitan Tower? One exit is plebeian, the other squashy; or had I better blow out the gas? Will you see that my headlines are not too sentimental? Not, ‘She Died for Love’; something like ‘Scorned—Social Success Suicides’ or ‘Her Last Cropper,’ are more in my line. Sorrowfully alliterative, if you like, but chastely simple. Aren’t you sorry for me, Phil?”
“Hardly. As the presentment of disappointed affection you’re not a success. Your martyrdom has all the aspects of a frolic at my expense. Don’t you think you’ve made a fool of me long enough?”
“Yes, I think so. I have made a fool of you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to until I found that you had made a fool of me. I wanted company.”