“But most of all, I think you are afraid of becoming bored with me.” “With you?” My laugh emerged on a sob. “How, I implore you, could any woman be bored with you? You are changeable as the weather, Revelstoke Templeton-Vane. I could no more predict your moods than I could those of a volcano. I wake each day never knowing if I will find you wreathed in smiles or taking out your grievances on a stuffed walrus. You are the least boring man ever fashioned by Nature.” “Perhaps you will not become bored with me,” he amended. “But you could well become bored of who you are when you are with me.”
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