“Who’s bringing the straw and feathers for the nest?” she asked.
“Both, apparently,” he replied, unwillingly.
“Why isn’t she rocking herself on a bough, and keeping her nails nice, and fixing her feathers in the latest style, or perhaps going off to some fool bird club while he builds the nest by himself?”
“Don’t know.”
“Nor anybody else,” she continued, with much satisfaction. “Now, if she happened to have two hundred and twelve feathers, of the proper size and shape to go into that nest, do you suppose he’d refuse to touch them, and make her cry because she brought them to him?”
“Probably he wouldn’t,” admitted Harlan.
There was a long silence, then Dorothy edged up closer to him. “Do you suppose,” she queried, “that Mr. Robin thinks more of his wife than you do of yours?”
“Indeed he doesn’t!”
“And still, he’s letting her help him.”
“But——”