"Then I don't think you can love me much," she objected with perverse jealousy.
"It strikes me as a perfectly fair bargain to both. I certainly ought to be willing to take the chance," he said reasonably, "if you are."
"If I am! Cary! You mean that you—might—want—to leave me?" A startled incredulity made the words jerky.
"One can never be quite certain how these things are going to turn out, can one?" he observed with a fine air of judicial detachment. "Shall I have my lawyer draw the agreement?"
"Cary; you're laughing at me," she accused.
"Far be it from me, in a matter of such serious import——"
"You are! You're hateful! It isn't fair. You know that's the way to hold me and you know you don't mean to let me get loose for a single minute. I don't like your knowing so dam' much about women," she continued plaintively. "It makes it so uneven."
"I'm trying to be fair," he pointed out. He drew a chair up to the writing desk. "Suppose I just sketch out the scheme. 'This agreement,' he dictated to himself, speaking the words slowly, 'between Patricia Fentriss——'"
"Scott," she interposed.
"—Scott—thank you, dearest—and—Cary—Scott—for—the—space—of—one—month—after——"