"So do I." He threw himself down on the ground at her feet, lay flat on his back, his clasped hands behind his head, and gazed up into the tree-tops. "I'll take your advice into careful consideration," said he. "I know you won't do anything rash," said she, and they both laughed again. "How much more diplomatic that sort of talk is," he observed. "Why do we ever allow ourselves to use any other?" "Because we are human, I suppose." Juliet was putting a mass of waving brown hair, disordered by the fight, into shape again. "It isn't nice. We don't do it often. To-night you came home tired, and found a wife who had been entertaining people from town all the afternoon. But it's all right now, isn't it?" She bent forward, and Anthony took her outstretched hand in his own and gave it a grip which made it sting. He began to whistle cheerfully. "Should we be happier if we never disagreed?" she asked thoughtfully. The whistle stopped. "Jupiter, no! I want a thinking being to talk things over with, not a mental pincushion." "Thank you.--Isn't it lovely here?" "Delightful.--Julie, do you know we'll have been married five years next September?" "It doesn't seem possible." "I shouldn't know it, to look at you," he observed. He rolled upon his left side and regarded her from under intent brows. "You haven't grown a day older." "I'm not sure that's a compliment." "It's meant for one. Do you know you're a beauty?" "I never was one and never shall be," she answered laughing, but she could not object to the obvious sincerity of his opinion as he delivered it. "You're near enough to satisfy me. I'd rather have your good looks than all the--Well, I sat in front of a newly married pair on the way home to-night--that fellow Scrivener and his bride. _She's_ what people call a raving beauty, I suppose. I wouldn't have her in the house at a dollar an hour. She's a whiner. Had him doing something to satisfy her whim every minute. I heard him trying to tell her about something that interested him, but she couldn't take time from herself to listen. His voice had a note of fatigue in it, already, or I'm not Robeson. I tell you, Juliet--that's the sort of thing that makes a bachelor vow to stay single, and he can't be blamed." "Suppose a bachelor had overheard us half an hour ago?" "I'm glad none did--but if he had it wouldn't have disgusted him the way the other sort of thing did me to-day. A brisk little altercation is nothing, with unlimited hours of friendliness and understanding before and after. But a perpetual drizzle of fault finding and exactions--would make a fellow go hang himself. Mrs. Robeson, do you know, you're a very exceptional young person?" "In what way, sir?"