Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said hardily:
“No, I shall stick it!”
Phyllis sneezed.
“My hair isn't a bit dry,” and she sat down on the fender with her back to the fire.
A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could get that wheeze off: “Phyllis is my only joy!” or even: “Phyllis—do you—won't you—mayn't I?” But nothing came—nothing.
And suddenly she said:
“Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!”
“Breathe? I wasn't!”
“You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming.”
He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What does it matter? I can stand anything from her; and walked the three steps back again.