"Unhappy that I have chanced to fall in love with you, Patricia? It is an accident which might befall any really intelligent person."
She shrugged her shoulders, ruefully.
"I have done wrong to let you talk to me as you have done of late.
I—oh, Jack, I am afraid!"
Mr. Charteris meditated. Somewhere in a neighboring thicket a bird trilled out his song—a contented, half-hushed song that called his mate to witness how infinitely blest above all other birds was he. Mr. Charteris heard him to the end, and languidly made as to applaud; then Mr. Charteris raised his eyebrows.
"Of your husband, Patricia?" he queried.
"I—Rudolph doesn't bother about me nowadays sufficiently to—notice anything."
Mr. Charteris smiled. "Of my wife, Patricia?"
"Good gracious, no! I have not the least doubt you will explain matters satisfactorily to your wife, for I have always heard that practise makes perfect."
Mr. Charteris laughed—a low and very musical laugh.
"Of me, then, Patricia?"