Maurice turned away. "This room is insufferably hot!" he said. He let a window curtain roll up with a jerk, and flung open a window.
She was silent.
"I wish," he said, "that you'd let up on Edith. You're always criticizing her. I don't like it."
That night Johnny Bennett, somehow, lured Edith out on to the porch to say good night. The thunderstorm had come and gone, and the drenched garden was heavy with wet fragrance.
"Let's sit down," Johnny said; then, beseechingly, "Edith, don't you feel a little differently about me, now?"
"Oh, Johnny, dear!"
"Just a little, Edith? You don't know what it would mean to me, just to hope?"
"Johnny, I am awfully fond of you, but—"
"Well, never mind," he said, patiently, "I'll wait."