He lighted his cigarette. There was a mischievous glimmer in his eyes: “Probably it’s sulking because I’m having a better time with you.” “You’re not serious!” “Yes, I am. That fool of a novel is jealous. That’s what’s the matter with it, Eris.” “If I believed that,” she said with a troubled smile, “I’d not go near you.” “That would be murderous, Eris.” “How?” “Why, I’d go home and kick that novel to death.” Her light laughter was not wholly free of concern: “I’ve thought sometimes,” she said, “that perhaps our mornings together might take a little of the freshness _out_ of you, Mr. Annan.... Take _something_ from your work.... You’re so nice about it--but you mustn’t let me----” “Nonsense. Even if it were true I’m not going to let anything spoil our intellectual----” he hesitated,--“honeymoon,” he added with the faintest malice in his laugh. “What a delightful idea!” she exclaimed. “That’s what this week has been, hasn’t it!--on _my_ part, anyway. But of course you don’t feel----” “I do, madam. Do you acknowledge our intellectual alliance?” “Yes, but----” “That settles it. You can’t honeymoon by yourself, can you?” She thought him delightfully ridiculous. But a faint misgiving persisted: “About your novel,” she began,--and he laughed and said: “Well, what about it?” “When will you begin again?” “How long will our honeymoon last?” “That isn’t fair----” “Yes, it is. How long, Eris?” She laughed at his absurdity: “Forever, with me,” she said. “So you might as well begin work now as later.” “Hasn’t our honeymoon interfered a little with your work?” he asked lightly. “Of course not. It’s been the most stimulating of tonics, Mr. Annan.” “Well, it’s overstimulated me, perhaps. I can’t keep my feet on the earth,--I float----” “You’re lazy!” “Blissfully, Eris.... Eris!... Eris, immortal goddess of eternal discord.... Who gave you that lovely, ominous name?” “The ironical physician who brought me into the world, I believe.... I believe I was well named.” “You don’t create discord.” “I seem to; from birth,” she said absently. She bent over a mass of rose-scented white peonies, inhaling the slightly aromatic perfume. Watching her, he said: “It’s hard for me to realise that you’ve ever had troubles.” “It’s hard for me, too,” she brushed her lips against the delicate, crisp petals. “Troubles,” she said, “become unreal when one’s mind remains interested.... I can’t even remember how it feels to be unhappy.... A busy mind forgets unessentials like trouble.” He said: “You’re rather amazing at times, do you know it?” “Why?” He smiled: “Also,” he said, “there’s an incongruity about this honeymoon of ours, Eris.” “Where, Mr. Annan?” “Between your lips and mine--when you say ‘Mr. Annan’ and I answer, ‘Eris.’ And on our honeymoon, too,” he added gravely. Her laughter was a little confused. “It seems natural for me to call you Mr. Annan. One is not likely to think familiarly of famous people----”