“Look here, Wilfrid, I can’t do with you- not when I’m answering fan mail.”

“Darling, you’ve said that before.”

The typewriter clicked.

“And I shall go on saying it until you go.”

Wilfrid extended himself into what was practically a straight line. He was long and slim, and he had sleek dark hair.

“You wouldn’t be so harsh.”

Sally laughed. Even when she was preparing to be harsh it was an uncommonly pleasant sound-one of those laughs that go with a kind heart and an even temper. She turned her brown eyes on him and said,

“I can be fierce!”

Wilfrid produced a slightly supercilious smile.

“Not with me, darling.”

“And why not?”

“You wouldn’t have the heart.”

She frowned, typed an exclamation mark in a perfectly uncalled for place, and said,

“You’re wrecking this letter-and it’s rather a special one to a professor who has taken a cross-section of twenty-five of Marigold’s books and counted up how many times she has split an infinitive, so it simply won’t do for me to provoke him by making mistakes in my typing. Please do go away.”

He slid down another inch in the capacious chair, closed his eyes, and said,

“I don’t feel strong enough. Besides I’m just working up to a proposal of marriage.”

Sally planted an asterisk in the middle of a sentence and took her hands off the typewriter.

“You proposed to me yesterday.”

“And the day before, and the day before that. I’m just wearing you down, darling.”

“And how many times do I have to say no?”

“I have no idea. You’ll get tired of it some day.”

“Look here, Wilfrid-”

He waggled a hand at her.

“Let us change the subject. I don’t feel strong enough to wrangle. Besides I’ve got a grievance. Against Paulina. Or does one say with? A grievance with-a grievance against -anyhow it’s still with or against your Aunt Paulina.”