Dick. 'It's blowing outside. I suppose I may come over and see you if I'm good?'
'You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for you. But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of things to consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me!—so good to me!'
'Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it?'
'I can't tell a fib. It hasn't—in that way. But don't think I'm not grateful.'
'Damn the gratitude!' said Dick huskily to the paddle-box,
'What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and you'd ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you were so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. Can't you wait till that day comes?'
'No, love. I want you unbroken—all to myself.'
Maisie shook her head. 'My poor Dick, what can I say?'
'Don't say anything. Give me a kiss? Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear I won't take anymore. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're grateful.'
