Evan said very off-hand: "Well, I thought you were going to administer me."
He did not look at her as he said it. She gave him no sign. She was silent for so long that a great anxiety arose within him. Yet he felt that to speak again would only be to weaken his plea. He looked at her. The shining head was studiously averted, the long lashes down.
Finally she said, low and firmly: "It is impossible."
"Why?" he demanded.
"You want a clinging vine," she said scornfully. "A tame woman who will look up to you as the source of all wisdom!"
"If I did would I be asking you?" he said dryly.
"You hope to tame me."
"Never! The shoe is on the other foot. You want a husband whose neck you can tread on."
"What difference does it make whose fault it is?" she said wearily. "The fact remains we would quarrel endlessly and hatefully. It would be degrading!"
"People who love each other always quarrel," said Evan cheerfully. "There's no harm in it."