"My darling," said Philip, drawing Dora still nearer to him, and caressing the graceful head that was resting against his knee, "do you know that one of these days I shall be jealous of you, you are making such progress with your painting."
"What nonsense! I am learning, so that I may understand you better. To appreciate you thoroughly, my ambition soars no higher than that."
Philip looked at his watch, turned towards the door that led to the street, and made a little gesture of impatience, that did not escape Dora.
"Philip," said she, "what are you thinking of?"
"Why, of you, dear, always you."
"No, you were not thinking about me just now. You cannot deceive me," said she coaxingly. "Do you know that, of late, I have observed a little change in you—oh! just a little change."
"A change? What a little goose you are!"
"Oh, I am not so silly as all that; the fact is you seem absent-minded lately, anxious, irritable even; and, worse than all that, this morning you had forgotten it was the anniversary of our wedding. Now, had you not?"
Philip started.
"Oh, but I am quite sure of what I am saying. I am certain you had forgotten."