Olive looked up at him innocently, and asked:
“Yes; aren’t you—for the same person?”
“No; I was just passing—I had an errand in here.”
“I’m glad you did,” declared Olive, soberly. “I think we should always do our errands. Zee and I are doing a few this morning.”
“Oh yes; you and Miss Dameron. I thought I recognized Zan at the door.”
“It was very discerning of you, to be sure; and then—you thought of your errand!” and Olive held up her book and scanned the gilt top with minute care. When she looked at him he was laughing and she laughed, too. “Let’s be serious,” she said. “I don’t believe I understand your tactics. You’ll have to get better—as Mr. Balcomb would say. You’re what he’d call a rank quitter.”
Morris made a wry face.
“I thank you for the diagnosis. I suppose we’re referring to the same thing.”
“Or person. Undoubtedly. And I may as well be quite frank with you. They have all told me how talented you are; but I really don’t see it. It’s a good thing you’ve quit; you couldn’t have made it anyhow. I warned her against you in the beginning, and I rarely make mistakes.”
He had begun the day humbly and her mild flagellation was grateful to his bruised spirit.