“Marcia,” groaned the tormented lover. “If you don’t stop that I’ll—I’ll grab you up right here and carry you off.”
“That would commit you fatally,” she reminded him. “By the way, are you never coming to see me again?”
“I’m all tied up with evening work, now.”
“Of course,” she assented with a gravity which, however, roused his suspicions. “Are you going to Madam Taylor’s tea?”
“I’m not on Madam Taylor’s list, since I called her a tax-dodger.”
“I cannot imagine her dodging anything; not even a taxi, let alone a tax. She is so dignified and positive and ‘sot.’ Will you come if I get you an invitation?”
“What for?”
Marcia’s delicate mouth drooped exaggeratedly. “If I must be a sister to you,” she murmured, “that is surely no reason why we should not meet occasionally.”
“Oh, I’ll come!” said Jem wildly. “I’d walk from here to New York just to see you in the street, and you know it.”
“Jem!” she said with a change of tone. Her fingers just touched his hand lightly. “It is a shame to tease you. But your Spartan rôle is such a temptation!”