“Well, well, Zil, old dear, having a good loaf while hubby’s away? That’s the idea! I’ll bet a hat Myra never got up till ten, while I was in Chicago. Say, could I borrow your thermos--just dropped in to see if I could borrow your thermos bottle. We’re going to have a toboggan party--want to take some coffee _mit_. Oh, did you get my card from Akron, saying I’d run into Paul?” “Yes. What was he doing?” “How do you mean?” He unbuttoned his overcoat, sat tentatively on the arm of a chair. “You know how I mean!” She slapped the pages of a magazine with an irritable clatter. “I suppose he was trying to make love to some hotel waitress or manicure girl or somebody.” “Hang it, you’re always letting on that Paul goes round chasing skirts. He doesn’t, in the first place, and if he did, it would prob’ly be because you keep hinting at him and dinging at him so much. I hadn’t meant to, Zilla, but since Paul is away, in Akron--” “He really is in Akron? I know he has some horrible woman that he writes to in Chicago.” “Didn’t I tell you I saw him in Akron? What ’re you trying to do? Make me out a liar?” “No, but I just-- I get so worried.” “Now, there you are! That’s what gets me! Here you love Paul, and yet you plague him and cuss him out as if you hated him. I simply can’t understand why it is that the more some folks love people, the harder they try to make ’em miserable.” “You love Ted and Rone-- I suppose--and yet you nag them.” “Oh. Well. That. That’s different. Besides, I don’t nag ’em. Not what you’d call nagging. But zize saying: Now, here’s Paul, the nicest, most sensitive critter on God’s green earth. You ought to be ashamed of yourself the way you pan him. Why, you talk to him like a washerwoman. I’m surprised you can act so doggone common, Zilla!” She brooded over her linked fingers. “Oh, I know. I do go and get mean sometimes, and I’m sorry afterwards. But, oh, Georgie, Paul is so aggravating! Honestly, I’ve tried awfully hard, these last few years, to be nice to him, but just because I used to be spiteful--or I seemed so; I wasn’t, really, but I used to speak up and say anything that came into my head--and so he made up his mind that everything was my fault. Everything can’t always be my fault, can it? And now if I get to fussing, he just turns silent, oh, so dreadfully silent, and he won’t look at me--he just ignores me. He simply isn’t human! And he deliberately keeps it up till I bust out and say a lot of things I don’t mean. So silent-- Oh, you righteous men! How wicked you are! How rotten wicked!” They thrashed things over and over for half an hour. At the end, weeping drably, Zilla promised to restrain herself.