“I offered you a house in the country,” shouted Alfred.
“The country!” echoed Zoie. “How could I live in the country, with people being murdered in their beds every night? Read the papers.”
“Always an excuse,” sighed Alfred resignedly. “There always HAS been and there always would be if I'd stay to listen. Well, for once,” he declared, “I'm glad that we have no children. If we had, I might feel some obligation to keep up this farce of a marriage. As it is,” he continued, “YOU are free and I am free.” And with a courtly wave of his arm, he dismissed Zoie and the entire subject, and again he started in pursuit of Mary and his hat.
“If it's your freedom you wish,” pouted Zoie with an abused air, “you might have said so in the first place.”
Alfred stopped in sheer amazement at the cleverness with which the little minx turned his every statement against him.
“It's not very manly of you,” she continued, “to abuse me just because you've found someone whom you like better.”
“That's not true,” protested Alfred hotly, “and you know it's not true.” Little did he suspect the trap into which she was leading him.
“Then you DON'T love anybody more than you do me?” she cried eagerly, and she gazed up at him with adoring eyes.
“I didn't say any such thing,” hedged Alfred.
“Then you DO,” she accused him.