"I feel like the dickens," she said, folding her knitting and descending the steps.
"Headache?"
"No; I merely sat up too late, and I'm sleepy. It's perfectly horrid that you can't stop when you're winning.... What did you wish me to do, Jim—canoe with you?"
"I thought you wanted to."
"Is that why you asked me?"
"I wanted to, also. Why do you always put me in wrong, Diana?"
"Jim, do I put you in wrong, as you call it?"
"Sometimes."
"Well, it's horrid of me. Forgive me. I do try to be such good friends with you, and somehow I don't succeed."
"You—we are good friends," he said; "you know perfectly well how I feel about you."