Janet's face had changed; she tried to smile in concert, but the effort was rather piteous.

"Oh, Jack," she said, "please take it seriously." But he laughed on, irrepressibly.
She tried to cover his lips.

"_Don't_ shout so!" she begged, as if there were illness in the house or a funeral next door, and he saw something in her face which stopped him.
"My darling, it can't hurt--it doesn't, does it ?" "I'd like to say no, but it does, a little.

Not so much as it would have done a while ago." "Are you going to accept Miss Bell's souvenir of her shattered ideal?
That's the best thing in the letter -- that's really supreme!" and Kendal, still broadly mirthful, stretched out his hand to take it again; but Janet drew it back.
"No," she said, "of course not; that was silly of her.
But a good deal of the rest is true, I'm afraid, Jack." "It's damnably impudent," he cried, with, sudden anger.
"I suppose she believes it herself, and that's the measure of its truth.

How dare she dogmatize to you about the art of your work! _She_ to _you_!" "Oh, it isn't that I care about.