"Of course we will, comrade," he said, reining in his chestnut.
"Comrade! Comrade!" she echoed derisively, and sought his eyes with a passionate glance. "We've made a nice mess of our comradeship!"
He shrugged his shoulders, the gesture with which he always met a scolding, and did not answer.
"I wish you would say something!" she cried, quite beside herself.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, making a movement as if he were going to scratch his head reflectively. "It's a nasty affair--we admit that," and he repeated, pondering to himself, "nasty affair, nasty affair!"
"And is that all you have to say?" she exclaimed.
"My gracious friend," he replied, "I am little, and my heart is little in proportion. It's hardly an adequate platform whereon to parade great anguish of soul!"
"Who is talking about anguish of soul!" she cried. "What is to become of us? That is what I want to know."
"Directly I inherit an unencumbered ancestral manor," he replied, with a gesture that denoted invitation, "containing house, stable, horses and carriages, and other animate and inanimate necessaries, I shall permit myself the honour of asking your husband for your hand."
She could no longer control her despair.