a woman----"

"Come, Toni." Deceived by her quiet tone Owen laid his hand on her arm.
"Don't grow up too quickly. Let me have my little child-wife a bit
longer yet----"

She shook his hand off with a violence for which he was not prepared,
and he spoke angrily, his softer impulses dying away.

"Hang it all, Toni, you needn't repulse me as if I were a snake. You
_are_ a child, after all, and a jolly bad-tempered one at that!" It was
the first time he had ever used such a tone, and the girl's anger flared
up in reply.

"A child--of course--you think so, you always will--you and your
precious secretary!" As she spoke Toni snatched up a packet of
neatly-folded proofs from the table behind her. "This is her work, I
suppose. Oh, how I _hate_ her--and you--and the book! I'd like to
destroy it all--to burn it up--like that!"

With a passionate gesture she turned round and flung the bundle of
papers into the very heart of the fire blazing on the hearth behind her.

"There!" She faced him again, her breast heaving, her eyes flashing
stormily. "I'd burn it all--if I could. You like your book better than
me--but I've burnt so much of it, anyway."

Owen had started forward as she spoke, but it was useless to attempt to
save the burning sheets, and he fell back from the hearth with an
exclamation of anger.

"You are a little fool, Toni." He spoke coldly. "What, good do you
expect to do by a piece of childish spite like that? Those proof sheets
were all corrected--now the duplicate set will have to be revised, and
as they are due in London to-morrow, I shall have to spend several hours
over them before I can get to bed to-night."

Toni, frightened now at what she had done, stood motionless during his
speech. As he said the last words her rage melted suddenly into
contrition.

"Owen--I'm--I'm sorry." She spoke haltingly. "I--I didn't mean to give
you trouble. Can I--will you let me help you--to make up for what I've
done?"

He raised his eyebrows and laughed rather bitterly.

"It's very kind of you, Toni, but I think I won't trouble you. Your
repentance is a little belated, isn't it? And I think I prefer to keep
my work to myself in future."

The fire of her rage gave one last expiring flicker.

"As usual," she said, "your work is more to you than I. I wonder you
ever married, Owen. Marriage doesn't seem to mean a great deal to you."

"I sometimes wonder, myself," he said drily. "Certainly I haven't found
it a very