“You?” she queried, ironically—“oh, you would forever hang fire.”
“ ‘Cold dinners!’ ” he quoted in bitterness. “But you knew I loved you. You knew well enough.”
“Past tense,” she replied, “thanks—make it perfect next time.”
“It’s you who hang fire—it’s you who make me,” he said.
“And so from the retort circumstantial to the retort direct,” she replied, smiling.
“You see—you put me off,” he insisted, growing excited. For reply, she held out her hand and showed him the ring. She smiled very quietly. He stared at her with darkening anger.
“Will you gather the rugs and stools together, and put them in that corner?” she said.
He turned away to do so, but he looked back again, and said, in low, passionate tones:
“You never counted me. I was a figure naught in the counting all along.”
“See—there is a chair that will be in the way,” she replied calmly; but she flushed, and bowed her head. She turned away, and he dragged an armful of rugs into a corner.
When the actors came in, Lettie was moving a vase of flowers. While they played, she sat looking on, smiling, clapping her hands. When it was finished Leslie came and whispered to her, whereon she kissed him unobserved, delighting and exhilarating him more than ever. Then they went out to prepare the next act.
George did not return to her till she called him to help her. Her colour was high in her cheeks.
