“Well! the sky did not fall, and the train did not ditch, and the lightning did not strike, and we are neither of us dead. And you—you look as strapping as a West Point cadet. Fie upon your principles!”
“That is a charming tirade with which to greet an impatient lover,” cried Boswell, with beaming face. “You are serious, of course?”
“You have heard the parable of a woman’s ‘No’?” She gave both his outstretched hands a little shake, then retreated behind a chair and rested both arms on its back.
“My anger is appeased, but I think I am entitled to some recompense.”
“What can he mean? Would you prefer sherry or red wine?”
“There is a draught brewed upon Olympus which the gods call nectar—”
“So sorry. We are just out. I gave the last thimbleful away an hour ago.”
“Oh, you did! May I inquire to whom you gave it?”
“You may, indeed. And I would tell you—could I only remember.”
“Provoking—goddess! But perhaps you will allow me to look for myself. Perchance I might find a drop or two remaining. I am willing to take what I can get and be thankful.”