Suddenly Marjorie's heart gave a leap of joy. She was having another idea. "I'll tell you, Harry. We'll pretend to quarrel, and then——"
"And then you can leave me in high dudgeon."
The ruse struck him as a trifle unconvincing. "Don't you think it looks kind of improbable on—on—such an occasion?"
Marjorie blushed, and lowered her eyes and her voice: "Can you suggest anything better?"
"No, but——"
"Then, we'll have to quarrel, darling."
He yielded, for lack of a better idea: "All right, beloved. How shall we begin?"
On close approach, the idea did seem rather impossible to her. "How could I ever quarrel with you, my love?" she cooed.
He gazed at her with a rush of lovely tenderness: "And how could I ever speak crossly to you?"
"We never shall have a harsh word, shall we?" she resolved.