He smiled. As she had often done to him before, she seemed a child masquerading in a woman's robes.
"You're getting quite a critic!"
"Well," she said happily, "you'll laugh, but I got A Peacock's Tail from the library, and when the review in The Chronicle came out, the reviewer said just what I'd felt about it. He did! I'm not such a silly as you think, you see."
"My love!" he cried, "I never thought you were a 'silly.'"
"Not very wise, though! Oh, I know what I lack, Humphrey; but I am better than I was—I am really! Remember, I never heard literature talked about until I met you; it was all new to me when we married, and—if you've noticed it—you aren't very, very interested in anything else. The longer we live together, the more—the nicer I shall be."
He answered lightly:
"You're nice enough now."
But he was touched.
After a long pause, as if uttering the conclusion of a train of thought aloud, she murmured: "Baby's got your shaped head."
"I hope to God it'll be worth more to him than mine to me!" he exclaimed.