"Oh, no, no!" she cried. "Not you!"
He entered.
"Jinny," he said gently, "what's the matter with you?"
His voice made her weak and tender.
"I want to write a book," she said. "Such a pretty book."
"It's that, is it?"
He sighed and stood contemplating her in ponderous thought.
Jane took up some pens and played with them.
"I can't write if you look at me like that," she said.
"I won't look at you; but I'm going to talk to you."