Part 26 (1/2)

There is something too deliberate in her manner to be quite natural, and Rylton looks at her. She returns his glance with something of mockery in hers.

”It isn't nice to be married to a mere n.o.body, is it?” says she, showing her pretty teeth in a rather malicious little laugh.

”I suppose not,” says Rylton steadily. ”I haven't tried it.”

A gleam--a tiny gleam of pleasure comes into her eyes, bus she wilfully repulses it.

”Oh, you--if anybody. However, you knew _before_ you married me, that is one comfort.”

”Why do you speak to me like that, t.i.ta?” A frown has settled on Rylton's forehead. It is all such abominably bad form. ”You know how--how----”

”Ill-bred it is,” supplies she quietly, gaily.

”It is intolerable,” vehemently, turning away and walking towards the door.

”Ah, come back! Don't go--don't go!” cries she eagerly. She jumps out of her big chair and runs after him. She slips her hand through his arm, and swinging her little _svelte_ body round, smiles up into his face mischievously. ”What's the matter with you?” asks she.

”It is in such bad taste,” says Rylton, mollified, however, in a measure in spite of himself. ”You should consider how it hurts me.

You should remember you are my wife.”

”I do. That is why I think I can say to you what I can't say to anybody else,” says t.i.ta quietly. ”However, never mind; sit down again and let us settle the question about our guests. Here's a sheet of paper,” pus.h.i.+ng it into his hands. ”And here's a pencil--an awfully bad one, any way, but if you keep sticking it into your mouth it'll write. _I'm _tired of licking that pencil.”

She is evidently hopeless! Rylton, after that first crus.h.i.+ng thought, gives way, and, leaning back in his chair, roars with laughter.

”And am I to lick it now!” asks he.

”No, certainly not,”. She is now evidently in high dudgeon. She puts the pencil back in her pocket, and stands staring at him with her angry little head somewhat lowered. ”After all, you are right; I'm horrid!” says she.

_”I'm_ right! By what authority do you say that! Come now, t.i.ta!”

”By my own.”

”The very worst in the world, then. Give me back that pencil.”

”Not likely,” says t.i.ta, tilting her chin. ”Here's one belonging to yourself,” taking one off the writing-table near. ”This can't offend you, I hope. After all, I'm a poor sort,” says t.i.ta, with a disconsolate sigh that is struggling hard with a smile to gain the mastery. ”It's awfully hard to offend me. I've no dignity--that's what your mother says. And after all, too,” brightening up, and smiling now with delightful gaiety, ”I don't want to have any. One hates to be hated!”

”What an involved speech! Well, if you won't give me your pencil, let us get on with this. Now, to begin, surely you _have_ someone you would like to ask here, in spite of all you have said.”

”Well--perhaps.” She pauses. ”I want to see Margaret,” says she, hurriedly, tremulously, as if tears might be in her eyes.

He cannot be sure of that, however, as her lids are lowered. But her tone--is there a note of unhappiness in it? The very thought gives him a shock; and of late has she not been a little uncertain in her moods?

_”I_ was going to name her,” says Rylton.

”Then you see we have one thought in common,” says t.i.ta.

She has knelt down beside him to look at his list, and suddenly he lays his palm under her chin, and so lifts her face that he can see it.

”What is it, t.i.ta?” says he. ”Is anything troubling you? Last night you were so silent; to-day you talk. It is bad to be unequal.”