help laughing. It was so paltry to have him propelling her like a punishable child.
"Ham, jam, or damn, forget them!" he cried, raging. "You and your Messiah have ruined this Picnic anyhow. You spoiled it because you knew I looked forward to it. You've plotted against it, sneered at me and at Joyce because you knew I admired her."
"Admired her! Oh, is that the word?"
The little sarcasm hummed like a tuning fork in some silent chamber of his mind.
"You fool," he said. "Are you trying to push her into my arms?"
"I guess she can find the way without pushing."
"Well, you are a fool," he said slowly, in a dull voice that struck her deeper than any temper could have done. "You throw away love as if it was breadcrusts."
With a furious sweep he was about to hurl the neat piles of her handiwork on the floor. In one last salvage of decency he altered the course of his hand. He seized a fistful of the little brown strips of crust and flung them wildly across the room. The carving knife clattered off the table.
"You're frightening Virginia," was all she said.
Anger, the red and yellow clown, burst through the tight paper hoop of his mind and played gro-
