VIII
“Do me a favor, Robert,” spoke the pretty woman at his side, almost as soon as she and Robert had started their slow, homeward way. She looked up in his face, leaning on his arm beneath the encircling shadow of the umbrella which he had lifted.
“Granted; as many as you like,” he returned, glancing down into her eyes that were full of thoughtfulness and some speculation.
“I only ask for one; let Mrs. Pontellier alone.”
“Tiens!” he exclaimed, with a sudden, boyish laugh. “Voila que Madame Ratignolle est jalouse!”
“Nonsense! I'm in earnest; I mean what I say. Let Mrs. Pontellier alone.” “Why?” he asked; himself growing serious at his companion's solicitation.
“She is not one of us; she is not like us. She might make the unfortunate blunder of taking you seriously.”
His face flushe
