Will you come into my sitting-room. Don't—be—afraid. I—I—will not k-keep you l-long."
My teeth chattered in my head with nervousness. I felt cold. My husband looked more uncomfortable than I did. He fidgetted with his feet. His lips twitched slightly. Oh, he knew what was coming as well as I did.
"Will you come?" I repeated as he stood mute and uneasy before me.
"Of course," with an effort, "if you wish it."
If I wished it? I bore him off to my sitting-room. He had never entered the apartment before with me, except when he first introduced me to it. I closed the door. He waited until I took an arm-chair by the window. Then he quietly sat down at the other end of the room and picked up a book. His evident fear that I was about to become demonstrative, while it cut me to the quick, was not without its ridiculous side.
"Ha! Ha!" I laughed hysterically, "you need not be afraid. I won't kiss you. I've not brought you here to tell you how I love you; that would not be original enough to please you—or me. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
