“Well, I didn't much. But I can work them up.”
Marcia was quite ready to go; Bartley had seated himself at his table, but she still hovered about. “And are you—shall you put that Montreal woman in?”
“Yes, get it all in. She'll work up first-rate.”
Marcia was silent. Then, “I shouldn't think you'd put her in,” she said, “if she was so silly and disagreeable.”
Bartley turned around, and saw the look on her face that he could not mistake. He rose and took her by the chin. “Look here, Marsh!” he said, “didn't you promise me you'd stop that?”
“Yes,” she murmured, while the color flamed into her cheeks.
“And will you?”
“I did try—”
He looked sharply into her eyes. “Confound the Montreal woman! I won't put in a word about her. There!” He kissed Marcia, and held her in his arms and soothed her as if she had been a jealous child.
“Oh, Bartley! Oh, Bartley!” she cried. “I love you so!”