"
She threw aside her hat and coat and took her favourite place on the low
seat beside him. "Don't you remember, liebchen, how it was over there in
Europe--after you'd treated me badly, you were always so nice, that I
used to be quite tempted to make you be horrid?"
"I never was horrid to you," she protested.
"You're never horrid any more," he said, and, strangely enough, he said
it sadly.
"Well, do you _want_ me to be?"
"Yes! I wish you'd turn in once in a while and call me an old brute, and
say you wished you'd never seen me, and didn't know how in heaven's name
you were going to go on living with me!"
"Karl," she gasped--"are you going _crazy_?"
"No--at least I hope not. But you're just nice to me all the time,
because--because I'm blind! I don't like it! I wish you'd _swear_ at me
sometimes!"
"Well, in the first place," laughing, but serious too,--it had come so
heatedly, "it isn't my way to swear at any one. I never did swear at you.
Why should I begin now?"
"Oh, swear was figurative language," he laughed.
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