This somewhat disconcerted me.
“I mean,” I said, accidentally ladling the cold consomme into my tea-cup—“I mean, what would you do if you found a Chinaman's head on the sidewalk?”
“Step on it,” said my wife, promptly.
It was quite unexpected.
“I mean seriously,” I said, handing her my tea-cup, which she refused.
“I am quite serious,” said my wife; “but I wish you would watch what you are doing.”
I spent the next few minutes doing it.
“I am thinking,” I said gravely over my cutlet, “of writing mystery-stories.”
“That will be quite harmless,” returned the woman I once loved with passion.
I ignored her tone.