Part 5 (2/2)
”You'd look too comic in sackcloth and ashes. Come to my studio-warming instead.”
”A charming penance, Margaret.”
”Perhaps we ought to go down now,” she suggested, irrelevantly.
He took up the light again.
”Have you fixed the date for the warming?”
”Impossible yet. But I'll send you----”
”Not cards--now you've moved up into Bohemia!”
”Oh, no. A little pink note. I hope that is the correct thing in Bohemia, or, at least, that it isn't incorrect.”
”In Bohemia there are no correct things.”
”What an awful place it must be. Whatever one does is wrong.”
”On the contrary, whatever one does is right.”
”Then all things are correct in Bohemia!”
”How can that be, Margaret? There are things--no, there aren't, and--and--I'm afraid I've got myself into an awful tangle. You've quite turned my head with your logic.”
He began to move across the room towards the door.
”If it's only my logic that turns your head, then I take everything back. I won't speak to you ever again.”
”My goodness!” began Morgan, losing his wits, forgetting he held the candle and letting it fall. The light vanished like a spectre. ”I beg your pardon,” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, in some astonishment, whilst Margaret's laugh rang out.
Just as he stooped down to recover the candle, they became aware of footsteps, and in a moment the handle of the outer door was being turned.
”All dark,” said Diana's voice. ”Then I suppose they're not here--or, at least, I shouldn't like to think they were. I fancy Marjy put a candle and matches on the table.”
They heard the sound of her fumbling, and, as if by common understanding, they remained still as mice. Then Diana declared the things weren't there, and Archibald suggested they might inspect the place in the dark.
”I certainly shall do nothing so improper,” returned Diana severely.
”There must be match-light at least. I draw the line at that. Produce your pretty, golden box.”
Diana opened the green baize door, and Archibald struck a light.
”Ho, ho!” he said, playfully.
”We are evidently _de trop_” said Diana. ”Let us retire.”
”Be careful,” called Margaret. ”You'll burn your fingers.”
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