"But you see I do."
"Maybe you'd do that anywhere."
"I'll put myself where I sha'n't have any more chance to be lazy than a car horse; where it won't be a question of whether I want to go or not. I gave you fair warning, Missy; I told you this wasn't the life for me."
"Well, if you want to make me perfectly wretched—" said Missy, throwing down her book.
St. John had come up from the beach, and had thrown himself on the grass, with his hands clasped under his head, his hat lying beside him.
"I won't talk of it if it makes you wretched. Only you mustn't be surprised when I decide upon anything you don't like."
"I'd rather be surprised once than worried out of my life all the time."
"Very well, it's agreed." And St. John was silent, which Missy did not mean him to be. She wanted to argue with him about his restlessness.
"Such a good work as you are doing," she said. "Think what every one says about you."
"I don't want to think about it, if you please."