"You are
scientifically frank. You were bored with yourself.--Then there is some
hope for your future wife. . . . We have had many talks in our
acquaintance, Dr. Marmion, but none so interesting as this promises to
be. But now tell me what your purpose was in coming. 'Purpose' seems
portentous, but quite in keeping."
I noticed here the familiar, almost imperceptible click of the small
white teeth.
Was I so glad she was going that I was playful, elated? "My purpose,"
said I, "has no point now; for even if I were to propose to amuse you--I
believe that was the old formula--by an idle day somewhere, by an
excursion, an--"
"An autobiography," she broke in soothingly.
"Or an autobiography," I repeated stolidly, "you would not, I fancy, be
prepared to accept my services. There would be no chance--now that you
are going away--for me to play the harlequin--"
"Whose office you could do pleasantly if it suited you--these adaptable
natures!"
"Quite so. But it is all futile now, as I say."
"Yes, you mentioned that before.--Well?"
"It is well," I replied, dropping into a more meaning tone.
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