"Well," said Marchmont when the door was shut, "she takes defeat
prettily. Evidently you've made a conquest, as well as your husband."
"I wish she wouldn't come here," said May, wandering to the window and
speaking in a disconsolate voice.
"You don't like her?"
"Like her? Oh, of course I like the dear creature! Who wouldn't? And I
like him too." She turned round, smiling a little. "He's so nice, and
large, and clean, and direct, and obvious, and simple, you know. I like
him just as I like a great rosy apple."
"Hum! I don't eat many of those, do you?"
She laughed, but rather reluctantly. "Perhaps that's more your fault than
the apple's. Still I agree. A bite now and then. But they're mostly only
to dress the table."
"Why don't you want her to come?"
May sat down and fidgeted with a nick-nack on the table.
"Don't you think being forgiven's rather tiresome work?" she asked. "They
don't mean that, I know, but I can't help feeling as if they did."
"I don't see why you should."
She looked full at him for a moment. "No, I didn't suppose you would see
it," she said.
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