"Never!" he seconded. So that resolution passed the House unanimously.
They held hands in luxury a while, then she began again: "Still, we must pretend. You start it, love."
"No, you start it," he pleaded.
"You ought to," she beamed. "You got me into this mess."
The word slipped out. Mallory started: "Mess! How is it my fault? Good Lord, are you going to begin chucking it up?"
"Well, you must admit, darling," Marjorie urged, "that you've bungled everything pretty badly."
It was so undeniable that he could only groan: "And I suppose I'll hear of this till my dying day, dearest."
Marjorie had a little temper all her own. So she defended it: "If you are so afraid of my temper, love, perhaps you'd better call it all off before it's too late."
"I didn't say anything about your temper, sweetheart," Mallory insisted.
"You did, too, honey. You said I'd chuck this up till your dying day. As if I had such a disposition! You can stay here." She rose to her feet. He pressed her back with a decisive motion, and demanded: "Where are you going?"