"I shall buy it.
I'll write to the Commissioner to-night. And the site for the
bungalow--I've selected it already--is wonderful. You must come over
some day and advise me. You won't mind my staying here until I can get
settled? Wasn't that squall beautiful? And I suppose I'm late for
dinner. I'll run and get clean, and be with you in a minute."
And in the brief interval of her absence he found himself walking about
the big living-room and impatiently and with anticipation awaiting her
coming.
"Do you know, I'm never going to squabble with you again," he announced
when they were seated.
"Squabble!" was the retort. "It's such a sordid word. It sounds cheap
and nasty. I think it's much nicer to quarrel."
"Call it what you please, but we won't do it any more, will we?" He
cleared his throat nervously, for her eyes advertised the immediate
beginning of hostilities. "I beg your pardon," he hurried on. "I should
have spoken for myself. What I mean is that I refuse to quarrel. You
have the most horrible way, without uttering a word, of making me play
the fool. Why, I began with the kindest intentions, and here I am now--"
"Making nasty remarks," she completed for him.
"It's the way you have of catching me up," he complained.
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