“Yes, but not for three breakfasts! It’s breakfast that’s the test of love. Most people break over it, like boiled eggs.”
Bertram wasn’t sure how far Janet’s talk was sincere, how much she believed in her own absurdities. Perhaps she was behaving to him as she did to her blinded men, talking “any old thing”—to get a laugh out of them, to “keep their pecker up.”
He accused her of that once, and she blushed a little, as though found guilty.
He made her blush another time, when he spoke of Christy’s love for her.
“I suppose you know Christy worships you?”
She veiled her eyes with her long brown lashes, and said, “Yes, I know. . . . Poor dear old Plesiosaurus!”
“Why don’t you fix it up with him?”
A little smile played about her lips.
“ ‘He’s never asked me, sir, she said.’ And, besides, I haven’t told you that I requite his gloomy passion!”
“He’s one of the best in the world,” said Bertram.