making love to you, that's what it is. I've noticed lately that he doesn't want me around. I like his nerve!"
"Don't quarrel with him," said Teresa, laughing.
"Quarrel! Of course not. Only I must say I don't like it. It's all right for him to admire you—I like men to admire you—but I don't see why he should turn against me. It's confoundedly unpleasant—but I never did like the fellow much anyway."
"He isn't the most subtle or the best-mannered person I know," murmured Teresa. "But he means no harm."
"Doesn't he? He doesn't mean any good, either, so far as I can see."
"Oh, yes—he wants to reform your habits, and make you ambitious, and me rich."
"The devil he does. He wants to make you discontented with me."
"Well, he can't. So you needn't worry. Don't take him seriously, or I'll never tell you another thing."
"Yes, you will! You'll tell me everything, or I'll choke the life out of you!" And Basil playfully clasped his hands about her throat.
Teresa laughed.
"It's pure self-indulgence for me to tell you everything, though at times I think it's unwise. In this case, for instance. You don't like Erhart
