He drew her head to his shoulder, and for an instant she rested there. But as she looked up, she saw coming age in the granulated skin of his throat.
"He needs me—but he'd boss me. I'd be the cunning child-wife, even at fifty," she worried, and "Hang him, it's like his superiority to beat poor Milt even at adventuring—and to be such a confounded Modest Christian Gentleman about it!"
"You'd—you're so dreadfully managing," she sighed aloud.
For the first time in all their acquaintanceship, Jeff's pride broke, and he held her away from him, while his lips were pathetic, and he mourned, "Why do you always try to hurt me?"
"Oh, my dear, I don't."
"Is it because you resent the decent things I have managed to do?"
"I don't understand."
"If I have an idea for a party, you think I'm 'managing.' If I think things out deeply, you say I'm dull."
"Oh, you aren't. I didn't mean——"
"What are you? A real woman, or one of these flirts, that love to tease a man because he's foolish enough to be honestly in love?"