CHAPTER 3 The Egotist Considers––––––––
"Ouch! Let me go!"
He dropped his arms to his sides.
"What's the matter?"
"Your shirt stud—it hurt me—look!" She was looking down at her neck, where a little blue spot about the size of a pea marred its pallor.
"Oh, Isabelle," he reproached himself, "I'm a goopher. Really, I'm sorry—I shouldn't have held you so close."
She looked up impatiently.
"Oh, Amory, of course you couldn't help it, and it didn't hurt much; but what are we going to do about it?"
"Do about it?" he asked. "Oh—that spot; it'll disappear in a second."
"It isn't," she said, after a moment of concentrated gazing, "it's still there—and it looks like Old Nick—oh, Amory, what'll we do! It's just the height of your shoulder."
"Massage it," he suggested, repressing the faintest
