"Well, it is too bad, isn't it?" acquiesced he, in a much lower voice, and one from which every vestige of the tone of protest had vanished.
"It is too bad that these summer cottages are built so close together that you can't tie your shoes without being overheard by the folks next door? It makes me nervous. I feel as if I had to sit up straight all the time and smile like a crocodile, or else run the risk of being misunderstood."
"It is trying, dear," she said, "and destroys a good deal of the comfort and ease of one's outing."
"Nothing of the kind," began he, so explosively as to make my wife jump.
"Sh—," whispered the lady next door, but he went on.
"Nothing of the kind. I don't let it bother me in the least. They can attend to their own affairs, and I——"
"Sh—," said his wife; "suppose we walk down to the beach." She began to adjust her wrap.
"It is a good deal more comfortable here," he protested, "and besides I'm tired."
"So you are, of course," she said, regretfully. "I forgot. Such unusual work for a man would tire him;" and she loosened the lace veil she had drawn over her head and reseated herself.
"Well, are you ready?" questioned he, clapping on his hat and suddenly starting down the steps.