are just a great big baby, Felix. You are sulking and swelling up like a frog, because you think I don't appreciate what a wonderful husband I have and what a wonderful book he has written."
Then Kennaston began to laugh also. He knew that what she said was tolerably true, even to the batrachian simile. "When you insisted on adopting me, dear, you ought to have realized what you were letting yourself in for."
"—And I do think," Kathleen went on, evincing that conviction with which she as a rule repeated other people's remarks—"that you ought to make your next book something that deals with real life. Men Who Loved Alison is beautifully written and all that, but, exactly as the Tucson Pioneer said, it is really just colorful soapbubbly nonsense."
"Ah, but is it unadulterated nonsense, Kathleen, that somewhere living may be a uniformly noble transaction?" he debated—"and human passions never be in a poor way to find expression with adequate speech and action?" Pleased with the phrase, and feeling in a better temper, he began to butter a roll.
