Then, remembering just in time, she amended: "That is, I did love to meet you, until--" With a sudden realization that she certainly had not helped matters any, she came to an embarrassed pause.
A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face.
"You did love to meet me until--" he repeated after her; then his face changed.

"Billy, you aren't--you _can't_ be laying up last night against me!" he reproached her a little irritably.
"Last night?
Why, of course not," retorted Billy, in a panic at the bare mention of the "test" which--according to "When the Honeymoon Wanes"-- was at the root of all her misery.

Already she thought she detected in Bertram's voice signs that he was beginning to chafe against those "bonds." "It is a matter of--of the utmost indifference to me what time you come home at night, my dear," she finished airily, as she sat down to her work again.
Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on his heel and left the room.
Bertram, who knew nothing of the "Talk to Young Wives" in the newspaper at Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, and just a bit angry.
Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force against her paper that the note she was making became an unsightly blot.
"Well, if this is what that man calls being 'comfortably indifferent,' I'd hate to try the _un_comfortable kind," she muttered with emphasis..