“I’m tired,” he countered.
“Not too tired to say ‘Yes.’ ”
“Oh, very well! If you want furniture and things, buy them. I rather thought you could see deeper than that. Still, if you—”
“Stop! Don’t say any more—please don’t.” She pressed her hand quickly and nervously to her lips; then, with a half-laugh, “Oh, how silly I am; but you frightened me. You—you were laughing, Wynne, when you said that—weren’t you?”
He looked at her perplexed, and saw she was in deadly earnest.
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “I was laughing—’course I was.”
But to tell the truth, Wynne Rendall, Master of Psychology, was sorely out of his depth.
“That’s all right,” said Eve, and crossed to the little fireplace, where she stood awhile thinking. “I’ll fetch your dinner now.”
She laid the cloth and placed the dishes upon it. There was an awkwardness between them as they took their places, and very little disposition to talk. Wynne’s thoughts were mixed with wondering at her attitude and with intentions for the play. Hers were back to the birthday party of nearly three years before. It had been a night so full of promise. Everything had seemed so likely then. Then it had seemed good that the love and sunshine for which her spirit prayed should be rendered on the deferred payment system. Was it possible those goods would be outworn before the debt was discharged? She shivered and looked up under her lids at Wynne. He had changed so much; he seemed bigger—more like a man! The frail boy body and restless spirit were no longer upon the surface. He looked to have more ballast—to stand more firmly as a man among men.
His voice broke in upon her thoughts: