"'All the world's a stage,'" she quoted, letting her upraised arms
fall languidly at her sides--"And ours is a real comedy! Not 'As You
Like It' but 'As You Don't Like It!' Poor Shakespeare!--he never
imagined such characters as we are! Now, suppose you had satisfied
the expectations of all Washington City and married me, of course we
should have bored each other dreadfully--but with plenty of money we
could have run away from each other whenever we liked--they all do
it nowadays!"

"Yes--they all do it!" he repeated, mechanically.

"They don't 'love' you know!" she went on--"Love is too much of a
bore. YOU would find it so!"

"I should, indeed!" he said, with sudden energy--"It would be worse
than any imaginable torture!--to be 'loved' and looked after, and
watched and coddled and kissed--"

"Oh, surely no woman would want to kiss you!" she exclaimed--"Never!
THAT would be too much of a good thing!"

And she gave a little peal of laughter, merry as the lilt of a sky-
lark in the dawn. He stared at her angrily, moved by an insensate
desire to seize her and throw her down the hill like a bundle of
rubbish.

"To kiss YOU," she said, "one would have to wear a lip-shield of
leather! As well kiss a bunch of nettles! No, no! I have quite a
nice little mouth--soft and rosy! I shouldn't like to spoil it by
scratching it against yours! It's curious how all men imagine women