"You say it patriarchally, but yet flatteringly." Here she casually
offered me a flower. I mechanically placed it in my buttonhole. She
seemed delighted at confusing me. But I kept on firmly.
"I do not think," I rejoined gravely now, "that there need be any
flattery between us."
"Why?--We are not married."
"That is as radically true as it is epigrammatic," blurted I.
"And truth is more than epigram?"
"One should delight in truth; I do delight in epigram; there seems little
chance for choice here."
It seemed to me that I had said quite what I wished there, but she only
looked at me enigmatically.
She arranged a flower in her dress as she almost idly replied, though she
did not look me full in the face as she had done before: "Well, then, let
me add to your present delight by saying that you may go play till
doomsday, Dr. Marmion. Your work is done."
"I do not understand."
Her eyes were on me now with the directness she could so well use at
need.
"I did not suppose you would, despite your many lessons at my hands. You
have been altruistic, Dr. Marmion; I fear critical people would say that
you meddled.
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