“Yes, I am. That fool of a novel is jealous. That’s what’s the matter with it, Eris.”
“If I believed that,” she said with a troubled smile, “I’d not go near you.”
“That would be murderous, Eris.”
“How?”
“Why, I’d go home and kick that novel to death.”
Her light laughter was not wholly free of concern:
“I’ve thought sometimes,” she said, “that perhaps our mornings together might take a little of the freshness out of you, Mr. Annan.... Take something from your work.... You’re so nice about it—but you mustn’t let me——”
“Nonsense. Even if it were true I’m not going to let anything spoil our intellectual——” he hesitated,—“honeymoon,” he added with the faintest malice in his laugh.
“What a delightful idea!” she exclaimed. “That’s what this week has been, hasn’t it!—on my part, anyway. But of course you don’t feel——”
“I do, madam. Do you acknowledge our intellectual alliance?”