"It was a vulgar book!" persisted Addie, sticking to the point.
"Fiddlesticks! It was an artistic book—bungled."
"Oh, well!" said Addie, as the tears welled from her eyes, "if you're so fond of unconventional girls, you'd better marry them."
"I would," said Sidney, "but for the absurd restriction against polygamy."
Addie got up with an indignant jerk. "You think I'm a child to be played with!"
She turned her back upon him. His face changed instantly; he stood still a moment, admiring the magnificent pose. Then he recaptured her reluctant hand.
"Don't be jealous already, Addie," he said. "It's a healthy sign of affection, is a storm-cloud, but don't you think it's just a wee, tiny, weeny bit too previous?"
A pressure of the hand accompanied each of the little adjectives. Addie sat down again, feeling deliriously happy. She seemed to be lapped in a great drowsy ecstasy of bliss.
The sunset was fading into sombre grays before Sidney broke the silence; then his train of thought revealed itself.
"If you're so down on Esther, I wonder how you can put up with me! How is it?"