Downstairs the front door slammed and Logan gave a nervous start. His whole aspect changed. He lost the drooping solemnity that had come come over him and was stiff, quick, and alert, and prepared to be droll, as he was when it was a question of humbugging Tysoe and Cluny.
Oliver came in with a bottle of wine under each arm. She was in very good spirits and looking remarkably handsome.
“Hello, Kühler!” she cried. “How do you like being a success? We’re full of beans. We’re going to take a house. Did Logan tell you?”
“No,” said Mendel. “I hadn’t heard of it.”
“Well, it’s true. We’ve done with the slums and being poor and all that. We’re going to have a house and I’m going to have a servant, and I shall have nothing to do all day but eat chocolates and read novels and have people to tea.”
“So you’re going to be a real lady.”
“Yes. I’m going to wear a wedding-ring, and we’re going to give out that we’re married, so that Mrs. Tysoe can call on me.”
“You’re not going to do anything of the kind,” snapped Logan.
“I am. I don’t see why I should have a beastly time just because you won’t marry me, setting yourself up against the world and saying you don’t believe in marriage.”