"Leave Byron," she said, "leave the Isles of Greece where that lady, whose name I've forgotten, 'loved and sung,' and walk in the sun with me just because I wanted to see this spring! Oh, David, I would never ask it of you."
"You know I would have loved to do it."
"You would have been polite enough to do it. You're always polite."
"I would have done it because I wanted to," said the victim with the note of exasperation in his voice.
She stretched her hand forward and very gently took the branch of roses from him.
"Don't tell stories," she said in the cajoling voice used to children. "This is Sunday."
"I never tell stories," he answered, goaded to open irritation, "on Sunday or any other day. You know I would have liked to come with you and Byron could have—have——"
"What?" the branch upright in her hand.
"Gone to the devil!"
"David!" in horror, "I never thought you'd talk that way."