that you couldn't tell what people were like when everything was going
smoothly. She wondered if he would always be like that--trying to keep
one up to one's duty and making one feel stupid and ignorant about the
merest trifles.

"Well, this rich meal is ready," he said presently.

She turned around. The table was set--she couldn't help wondering
where he had found the kitchen knives and forks--the bacon was
sizzling, the tin of biscuits open, and the coffee bubbling and
gurgling in its glass retort.

She sat down and began to eat in silence, but as she did so, she studied
him furtively. She was used to many different kinds of masculine bad
temper; her father's irritability whenever anything affected his personal
comfort: and from other men all forms of jealousy and hurt feelings. But
this stern indifference to her as a human being was something a little
different. She decided on her method.

"Oh, dear," she said, "this meal couldn't be much drearier if we were
married, could it?"

"Except," he returned, unsmilingly, "that then it would be one of a
long series."

"Not as far as I'm concerned," she answered. "I should leave you on
account of your bad temper."

"If I hadn't first left you on account of--"