Year after year alone together, all in all to each other—year after year, soul to soul, E.B., Everlasting Bliss!"
He stretched out his hand to cut the initials. As he did so she seemed to awake from a dream. "Harcourt!" she cried, "Harcourt! What's that? What's that red stuff on your finger and thumb?"
III
Oh, my goodness! Oh, all ye goddesses and gods! Here's a mess. Mr. Worters has been reading Ford's inflammatory note-book.
"This my own fault," said Ford. "I should have labelled it 'Practically Private.' How could he know he was not meant to look inside?"
I spoke out severely, as an employé should. "My dear boy, none of that. The label came unstuck. That was why Mr. Worters opened the book. He never suspected it was private. See—the label's off."
"Scratched off," Ford retorted grimly, and glanced at his ankle.
I affect not to understand. "The point is this. Mr. Worters is thinking the matter over for four-and-twenty hours. If you take my advice you will apologize before that time elapses."
110
