"No, you haven't," she said, still in the same dull tone. "It's a new one."
"Yes, I have. Last night."
"Last night?"
"Yes, under your pillow."
"You?"
She stared, her face quivering. Suddenly the line of her mouth seemed to collapse and run downward. Something tight had broken, something proud and fierce had bent. She was crying.
"Oh, Geordie, life is so much queerer than I ever knew. Why didn't you tell me? I had such beastly dreams. I wish I could die."
The old name recalled one of his own for her.
"Leopard, Leopard . . . you silly little half-tamed leopard. What do I care about your dreams? It'll all be all right in the morning."
"It is the morning, and it isn't all right. You take them for the Picnic, let me stay at home. I won't see Mr. Martin. Take him away. He's so like you, Geordie, but with all your beastliness left out. Your nice beastliness, your dear beastliness, everything that makes me hate and adore you."
"Now, listen. I've got a great idea. I didn't half take my bath, I was so keen to tell it to you. Let's get married."
She looked at him in such quaint misery, her
