“What’s the matter?” he asked sullenly.
“Why, nothing!” she said with an indulgent smile, such as she might have given a small boy.
An intuition told him that in a way it was like dealing with an Indian; to ask questions would only put him at a disadvantage. He must patiently wait until the truth came out of itself.
In silence he chose the weapon she was least proof against. She tried to out-silence him, but soon began to fidget. “You’re not very talkative,” she said at last.
“I only seem to put my foot in it.”
“You’re very stupid.”
“No doubt.”
She got up. “I’m going back to bed.”
“Sorry, we don’t seem to be able to hit it off after supper.”
“I’d like to beat you!” she cried with a little gust of passion.