He leaned across the table toward her, the same charm now in his
face and in his voice that had drawn her when she first heard him
in public speech. "Let's suppose I'm a woodchopper, and you are my
wife. We've never been anywhere but just here. We're going to live
here all our lives--just you and I--and no one else--and we don't
want any one else. And we love each other--"

It was very alluring, but there was duty frowning upon her
yielding senses. "Please don't let that smoke drift into my face,"
said she crossly. "It's choking me."

He flung away the cigarette. "Beg pardon," he muttered, between
anger and humility. "Thought you didn't mind smoking."

She was ashamed of herself, and grew still angrier. "If you'd only
think about some one beside yourself once in a while," said she.
"You quite wear people out, with your everlasting thinking and
talking about yourself."

"You'd better stop that midnight reading," flared he. "Your temper
is going to the devil."

She rose with great dignity; with an expression that seemed to
send him tumbling and her soaring she went into the house.

In some moods he would have lain where he fell for quite a while.
But his mood of delight in her charms as a woman had completely
eclipsed his deference for her charms as a lady. He hesitated only
a second, then followed her, overtook her at the entrance to her