"Well, don't tell me so," he returned, "or it might spoil me. Now I wouldn't tell you how good you were, on any account."
"Oh yes, do, dearest!" she entreated, and a mist came into her eyes. "I don't think you praise me enough."
"How much ought I to praise you?"
"You ought to say that you think I'll never be a hinderance to you."
"Let me see," he said, and he pretended to reflect. "How would it do to say that if I ever come to anything worth while, it'll be because you made me?"
"Oh, Brice! But would it be true?" She dropped on her knees at his side.
"Well, I don't know. Let's hope it would," and with these words he laughed again and put his arms round her. Presently she felt his arm relax, and she knew that he had ceased to think about her and was thinking about his play again.
She pulled away, and "Well?" she asked.
He laughed at being found out so instantly. "That was a mighty good thing your father said when you went to tell him of our engagement."
"It was very good. But if you think I'm going to let you use that you're very much mistaken. No, Brice! Don't you touch papa. He wouldn't like it; he wouldn't understand it. Why, what a perfect cormorant you are!"