“He sees the world in his books,” said Mr. Mann, with a little spirit.
“He gets a microscopic view of it, yes,” replied Mae, grandiloquently, “and Edith—”
“Always sees just what he does,” suggested Eric maliciously.
“Now, boys,” said Miss Mae, assuming suddenly a mighty patronage, “I will not have you hit at Albert and Edith in this way. It will be very annoying to them. They have a right to act just as absurdly as they choose. We none of us know how people who are falling in love would act.”
No, the boys agreed this was quite true.
“And I really do suppose they are falling in love, don’t you?” queried Mae.
Yes, they did both believe it.
Just here, up came the two subjects of conversation, looking, it must be confessed, as much like one subject as any man and wife.
“What are you talking of?” asked Edith, “Madame Tussaud or a French salad? No matter how trivial the topic, I am sure it has a foreign flavor.”
“There you are mistaken,” replied the frank Eric, “we were discussing you two people, in the most homelike kind of a way.”