He put his arm around her shoulders.
“Gage—you mustn’t touch me like this.”
He laughed at her.
“It’s quite the new way, as I understand it, my dear, isn’t it? Nature—openness—no false modesties, no false sentiments. After all we are married—or to be more modern, we’re openly living together. The pictures in the paper prove it. There’s no use being silly. You’ve had your way a lot lately—now how about mine?”
He pulled her close to him and pushing back her head sought her lips roughly, as if he were dying of thirst and cared little what healthy or unhealthy drink he had found.
III
“You know,” said Cele Nesbitt to Freda, “I think Mr. Flandon acts kind of queer, don’t you?”
“He’s tired, probably,” she told Cele.
“Doesn’t look tired. He seems so excited. I thought he and old Sable must be having a row. I went into Sable’s office with some papers to-day and there they were glowering at each other and mum as oysters all the time I was in the room. They don’t stop talking business when I’m around.”
“Well, don’t worry about them,” answered Freda, “Mr. Flandon is the kindest person I know and there’s something wrong with people who can’t agree with him.”