n, drawing her to him, and setting her on his
knee_). Infant! Cherub! Angel! Dove!... Devil! (_Caressing her_.) Are we
friends?

MRS. CULVER. It kills me to quarrel with you. (_They kiss_.)

CULVER. Darling, we are absurd.

MRS. CULVER. I don't care.

CULVER. Supposing that anyone came in and caught us!

MRS. CULVER. Well, we're married.

CULVER.--But it's so long since. Hildegarde's twenty-one! John,
seventeen!

MRS. CULVER. It seems to me like yesterday.

CULVER. Yes, you're incurably a girl.

MRS. CULVER. I'm not.

CULVER. You are. And I'm a boy. I say we are absurd. We're continually
absurd. We were absurd all last evening when we pretended before the
others, with the most disastrous results, that nothing was the matter.
We were still more absurd when we went to our twin beds and argued
savagely with each other from bed to bed until four o'clock this
morning. Do you know that I had exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes'
sleep? (_Yawns_.) Do you know that owing to extreme exhaustion my
behaviour at my office to-day has practically lost the war? But the most
absurd thing of all was you trying to do the Roman matron business at
dinner to-night. Mind you, I adore you for being absurd, but--

MRS. CULVER (_very endearingly, putting her hand on his mouth_).
Dearest, you needn't continue. I know you're wiser and stronger than me
in every way. But I love that. Most women wouldn't; but I do. (_Kisses
him_.) Oh! I'm so glad you've at last seen the force of my arguments
about the title.

CULVER (_gently warning_). Now, now! You're behaving like a journalist.

MRS. CULVER. Like a journalist?

CULVER. Journalists say a thing that they know isn't true, in the hope
that if they keep on saying it long enough it _will_ be true.

MRS. CULVER. But you do see the force of my arguments!

CULVER. Quite. But I also see the force of mine, and, as an impartial
judge, I'm bound to say that yours aren't in it with mine.

MRS. CULVER. Then you've refused the title after all?

CULVER (_ingratiatingly_). No. I told you I hadn't. But I'm going to. I
was just thinking over the terms of the fatal letter to Lord Woking when
you came in. Starkey is now waiting for me to dictate it. You see it
positively must be posted to-night.

MRS. CULVER (_springing from his knee_). Arthur, you're playing with me!

CULVER. No doubt. Like a mouse plays with a cat.

MRS. CULVER. Surely it has occurred to you--

CULVER (_firmly, but very