“That will do,” she said.
It was Sunday afternoon a week later. They were sitting on the top of the range behind his house with a fine view spread out before them. The showery weather had cleared the air, and the day was fresh and crystalline. The two Airedales were skirmishing around them.
Dane looked off into space for some minutes.
“What a fool one can be,” he said, half to himself. Then he looked at Valerie, who like himself was hatless, lounging easily on the grass-tufted rock beside him.
She flashed a merry look at him. “Go on then with the tale of a fool.”
“I don’t know where to begin. It was always the tale of a fool. You see, I’ve never known what to do with your sex.”
“I haven’t noticed any deficiency in that direction.”
“You will, before you’re finished with me.”
“Look here, you always put it that way, as if I were managing this business.”
“You are, Miss Superman.”
“Dane, I will not be compared with that dreadful creature. But please, tell me the story. It doesn’t hurt you any more, does it?” She put out a hand which he took and kissed.
“No, not now.” He put more tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, and then as if changing his mind put it down on the ground, and drew up his knees.
“You know the names of the women concerned, I suppose.”
“The Goldens and Denisthornes are the only ones I know. Were there any more?”
“No. Those are enough. My wife had met Mrs. Golden in Sydney, and liked her, God knows why, and when we came over to Christchurch the Goldens met us,
