"Clive, you're becoming ponderous! Do you know
it? Suppose I didn't care to see you this particular afternoon. Is there any reason why you should take it so seriously?"
"Plenty of reasons," he said, saluting her smooth, cool hand,—"with all these people at your heels every minute—"
"Please don't pretend—"
"I'm not jealous. But all these men—Cecil and Jimmy Allys—they're beginning to be a trifle annoying to me."
She laughed in unfeigned and malicious delight:
"They don't annoy me! No girl ever was annoyed by overattention from her suitors—except Penelope—and I don't believe she had such a horrid time of it either, until her husband came home and shot up the whole thé dansant."
He was still standing beside her couch without offering to seat himself; and she let him remain standing a few minutes longer before she condescended to move aside on her pillows and nod a tardy invitation.
"Has it been an interesting day, Clive?"
"Rather."