“This is delicious.
like the warrior in Anacreon!”
“Don't quote, Nora,” said Raine. “It is one of your bad habits. You are trying enough with your list of first lines of Horace; but you know nothing at all about Anacreon.”
“I do!” she cried, wheeling round to face him. “Joshua was correcting the proofs of his edition during our honeymoon. I used to make him translate them—it was a way of getting him to make love to me. There! Now I'll repeat it:
“Oh, my dear Raine, it is too delicious! You, of all people in the world!”
“Then your verdict is that I am supremely ridiculous?”
“I am afraid I must say it strikes me in that light.”
“Thanks,” said Raine serenely. “That was what I was trying to get at. I have been jesting a little, but there is a substratum of truth in my confession. You confirm me in my own opinion—I am supremely ridiculous. I like to make certain of things. It is so futile to have this complicated state of mind—I hate it.”