I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. “I am in love with you. Rollo began to cavort. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally.
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