"Anyway, you are not to interfere," she returned with spirit.
"That's my department."
He abandoned the discussion. "Well, I leave it to you, partner.
You're not to sit here mending shirts anyhow. I draw the line at
that."
Sylvia's delicate chin became suddenly firm. "I never leave a
thing unfinished," she said. "You will have to ride alone this
evening."
"I refuse," said Burke.
She opened her eyes wide. "Really"--she began.
"Yes, really," he said. "Put the thing away! It's a sheer fad to
mend it at all. I don't care what I wear, and I'm sure you don't."
"But I do," she protested. "You must be respectable."
"But I am respectable--whatever I wear," argued Burke. "It's my
main characteristic."
His brown hand began to draw the garment in dispute away from her,
but Sylvia held it tight.
Burke, don't--please--be tiresome! Every woman mends her
husband's clothes if there is no one else to do it. I want to do
it. There!"
"You don't like doing it!" he challenged.
"It's my duty," she maintained.
He gave her an odd look. "And do you always do--your duty?"
"I try to," she said.
"Always?" he insisted.
Something in his eyes gave her pause. She wanted to turn her own
aside, but could not. "To--to the best of my ability," she
stammered.
He looked ironical for an instant, and then abruptly he laughed and
released her work.
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