"From this on, I
act." And determined not to be cheated out of this final
decision, he again started for the hall door.
"Oh, Allie!" cried Zoie in a tone of sharp alarm.
In spite of himself Alfred turned to learn the cause of her
anxiety.
"You haven't got your overshoes on," she said.
Speechless with rage, Alfred continued on his way, but Zoie moved
before him swiftly. "I'll get them for you, dear," she
volunteered graciously.
"Stop!" thundered Alfred. They were now face to face.
"I wish you wouldn't roar like that," pouted Zoie, and the pink
tips of her fingers were thrust tight against her ears.
Alfred drew in his breath and endeavoured for the last time to
repress his indignation. "Either you can't, or you won't
understand that it is extremely unpleasant for me to even talk to
you-- much less to receive your attentions."
"Very likely," answered Zoie, unperturbed. "But so long as I am
your lawful wedded wife----" she emphasised the "lawful"--"I
shan't let any harm come to you, if _I_ can help it." She lifted
her eyes to heaven bidding it to bear witness to her martyrdom
and looking for all the world like a stained glass saint.
"Oh, no!" shouted Alfred, almost hysterical at his apparent
failure to make himself understood. "You wouldn't let any harm
come to me. Oh, no. You've only made me the greatest joke in
Chicago," he shouted.
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