“I suit myself to your temperament!” he said, with a grand air. “You are full of infantile sentiment,—I try to meet it half way.”
“How good of you!” she said, and this time she succeeded in withdrawing her arm from his hold. “Is the effort exhausting?”
“Very!” And the moustache drooped over a whimsical but rather attractive smile.
She stood for a moment with her eyes downcast.
“Then why do you do it?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Try to meet me half way?”
“I thought it might make it easier for you,” he said. “Don’t you see? Easier for you to—”
“Rise to your height!” she suggested.
“Or sink to my level,” he answered, meekly—“whichever you prefer!”