"One would think you wanted him to, by your tone!" said the woman. "I'm sorry I inquired, I'm sure. I was wondering what he would do when he grew up if he hadn't a voice."
"He'll do better than I've done, I hope, anyhow. There are worse troubles than having no voice."
"That's lucky for you," she retorted; "if you go on in the way you're going, you won't have one long!"
He rapped out an oath:
"Which skunk said that?"
"Which?" she sniggered. "Everybody!"
"Some man, of course! Drinks my champagne, and runs me down to my wife behind my back."
"Runs you down?" she echoed. "Do you think any man—or any woman either—could tell me more about you than I know?"
"And a lot you care, don't you?"
"I should care if you lost your voice," she said shamelessly. David was all ears behind a picture-book during this conversation.