"
Burton shook his head.
"Please don't think of it," he begged. "It would completely upset me.
I should not be able to do another stroke of work."
"You and your work!" Edith murmured, looking down at him. "What about
me? What is the use of being engaged if I may not have my fiance come
and see me sometimes?"
"You don't want him," Burton declared, confidently.
"But I do," she insisted, "if only to stop your making love to me."
"I do not make love to you," he asserted. "I am in love with you.
There is a difference."
"But you ought not to be in love with me--you have a wife," she reminded
him.
"A wife who lives at Garden Green does not count," he assured her.
"Besides, it was the other fellow who married her. She isn't really my
wife at all. It would be most improper of me to pretend that she was."
"You are much too complicated a person to live in the same house with,"
she sighed. "I shall do as I said. I shall ask Mr. Bomford down for
the week-end."
"Then I shall go back to London," he pronounced, firmly.
A shadow fell across the grass.
"What's that--what's that?" the professor demanded, anxiously.
They both looked up quickly. The professor had just put in one of his
unexpected appearances.
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