“You’re the pride of the bar, aren’t you?” she asked sweetly.
“Now you’re touching me where I’m sensitive. You can afford to be merciful.”
“Only to the deserving. You’ve always rather flattered yourself that you were quick of apprehension and all that sort of thing,—that you took in a situation without having it forced upon you. You’ve had just such conceit, Mr. Leighton, and it hasn’t been justified by the facts.”
“I’ll admit everything you could charge against me; but what can I do? I did my best.”
“Which wasn’t very good, I must say. You weary me beyond words, Mr. Leighton!”
They both laughed at her earnestness.
“If I were you I shouldn’t face her here; and she will be here in a minute. You’d better go. If you should care enough for our good opinion to come out to see us—please note the plurals—I’ll see if I can do anything for you. But you have neither tact nor judgment. And you’re certainly an awful lot of trouble.”
He smiled cheerfully. He felt that under her irony she really meant to be encouraging.
“I think I’ll come out to-night, if you don’t mind,” said Morris.
“Oh, suit yourself! Don’t put yourself out for anything in the world. But”—and Olive hesitated and looked at Morris searchingly—“you’re very slow of comprehension or you might know that—that she has other burdens to bear—besides you! And now I’m sorry I said that to you, for it isn’t fair to her; so please run on and don’t be foolish any more.”