"I don't care—"
"Oh, but you must care. You must become thrifty and shrewd and devious and close, or you'll never make a successful farmer—"
"Dearest, that's nonsense. What do I know about farming?"
"Nothing yet. But you know what a wonderful man you are. Never forget that, Clive—"
"If you don't stop laughing at me, you little wretch—"
"Don't you want me to remain young?" she asked reproachfully, while two tiny demons of gaiety danced in her eyes. "If I can't laugh I'll grow old. And there's nothing very funny here except you and Hafiz—Oh, Clive! You have rumpled me! Please don't do it again! Yes—yes—yes! I do surrender! I am sorry—that you are so funny—Clive! You'll ruin this gown!... I promise not to say another disrespectful word.... I don't know whether I'll kiss you or not—Yes! Yes I will, dear. Yes, I'll do it tenderly—you heartless wretch!—I tell you I'll do it tenderly.... Oh wait, Clive! Is Mrs. Connor looking out of any window? Where's Connor? Are you sure he's not in sight?... And I shouldn't care to have Hafiz see us. He's a moral kitty—"
She pretended to look fearfully around, then, with adorable tenderness, she paid her forfeit and sat silent for a while with her slim white fingers linked in his, in that breathless little revery which always stilled her under the magic of his embrace.
He said at last: "Do you really suppose I could make this farm-land pay?"
And that was really the beginning of it all.