He picked up the cigarette before it burned the cloth. "What kind of—Well, I like that. Of all the silly observations!" He shook his head vexedly.
"Ted, why don't you look at me? Ted, you did go right to bed, last night?"
He looked at her, his chin tilted pugnaciously. "No, I went to Venus and met a blonde. Of course I went to bed."
"Well, what are you so nervous about? Heavens, it wasn't that little spat we had, or you had, rather, about your going to work?"
"No, no, no. You're imagining things, Ann."
"Look at your hand. Look how it's trembling. Ted—what is the matter?"
"Nothing. I had a dream. Ann, I don't want to talk about it."
"Drinking," she said. "It's those drinks you had, yesterday, I'll bet. You're just not a drinking man, Theodore Truesdale, and you're too old to begin."
"I'm not old. You know I'm not old. You wish I were, but I'm not. Do we always have to quarrel?"
She didn't answer. Her lips quavered, but she didn't cry. She rose and carried a few dishes to the sink.