Page:The Blind Bow-Boy (IA blindbowboy00vanv).pdf/272

 Don't be romantic, Cupid, was what she said. It seemed to her that she had thus adjured him several thousand times.

He faced her. Is it, he asked, because of. . . Zimbule?

What nonsense, Cupid. Go ahead enjoying yourself.

I'm not enjoying myself, he muttered morosely. I hate her.

Well, Cupid, she rejoined, smiling, and with as much kindliness as she could assume, taking into account her slight interest in the matter, I don't hate her at all. I like her.

He stood before her, perplexed. I don't understand you, Campaspe. What do you want? A divorce?

No, Cupid, I don't want a divorce. Do you?

Campaspe!

Well, there we are. Neither of us wants a divorce. We are a happily married couple like. . . Laura and her husband. Suddenly, she began to laugh. Cupid, she said, Fannie is getting married again.

I don't give a damn about Fannie! His face was red. It's you that I want to talk about. You're like a cake of ice! I don't believe you even have a lover!

Immediately this affront had passed his lips, he was apparently aghast that he had let it slip out,