“—And after you went out,” she continued, “what had happened seemed suddenly to demoralise me. I was exasperated.... I tore your rose from my belt and threw it after you.... I slammed the door and bolted it.... As though I could bolt out what had happened to me!—” She laughed and looked happily into his eyes,—“Barry! As though I could bolt it out!”
He kissed her hands; her lips caressed his bent head.
“... And, do you know,” she went on, “I even swore at you?”
“Swore at——” Laughter checked him.
“Yes, I damned you. I knew how to. They swear hard on farms.... Oh, Barry, I swore at you like a hired man!”
“You dear,” he said, “—you dear!”
“You say that now, but you nearly drove me mad that evening.... You did!”
“I was half crazy myself, Eris——”
“Were you!” she pleaded with swift tenderness. “Oh, Barry, you are thin! You look ill. I was frightened when you came in this evening——”
She drew his head to her again, caressed it, tender, penitent: