Part 8 (2/2)
”Then why are you afraid to talk to me?” asked Zoie sweetly.
”Who said I was afraid?” demanded Alfred hotly.
”You ACT like it,” declared Zoie, with some truth on her side. ”You don't want----” she got no further.
”All I want,” interrupted Alfred, ”is to get out of this house once and for all and to stay out of it.” And again he started in pursuit of his hat.
”Why, Allie,” she gazed at him with deep reproach. ”You liked this place so much when we first came here.”
Again Alfred picked at the lint on his coat sleeve. Edging her way toward him cautiously she ventured to touch his sleeve with the brush.
”I'll attend to that myself,” he said curtly, and he sank into the nearest chair to tie a refractory shoe lace.
”Let me brush you, dear,” pleaded Zoie. ”I don't wish you to start out in the world looking unbrushed,” she pouted. Then with a sly emphasis she added teasingly, ”The OTHER women might not admire you that way.”
Alfred broke his shoe string then and there. While he stooped to tie a knot in it, Zoie managed to perch on the arm of his chair.
”You know, Allie,” she continued coaxingly, ”no one could ever love you as I do.”
Again Alfred broke his shoe lace.
”Oh, Allie!” she exclaimed with a little ripple of childish laughter, ”do you remember how absurdly poor we were when we were first married, and how you refused to take any help from your family? And do you remember that silly old pair of black trousers that used to get so thin on the knees and how I used to put shoe-blacking underneath so the white wouldn't show through?” By this time her arm managed to get around his neck.
”Stop it!” shrieked Alfred as though mortal man could endure no more.
”You've used those trousers to settle every crisis in our lives.”
Zoie gazed at him without daring to breathe; even she was aghast at his fury, but only temporarily. She recovered herself and continued sweetly:
”If everything is SETTLED,” she argued, ”where's the harm in talking?”
”We've DONE with talking,” declared Alfred. ”From this on, I act.”
And determined not to be cheated out of this final decision, he again started for the hall door.
”Oh, Allie!” cried Zoie in a tone of sharp alarm.
In spite of himself Alfred turned to learn the cause of her anxiety.
”You haven't got your overshoes on,” she said.
Speechless with rage, Alfred continued on his way, but Zoie moved before him swiftly. ”I'll get them for you, dear,” she volunteered graciously.
”Stop!” thundered Alfred. They were now face to face.
”I wish you wouldn't roar like that,” pouted Zoie, and the pink tips of her fingers were thrust tight against her ears.
Alfred drew in his breath and endeavoured for the last time to repress his indignation. ”Either you can't, or you won't understand that it is extremely unpleasant for me to even talk to you--much less to receive your attentions.”
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