“No, no; not justified. When you told me of a possibility of Singapore for you I was not astonished. I made no difficulty.”
“Different,” he said. “Different.”
“Not different, Harry. The same. How different? If you could go, I can go. The same. Aren’t things with us always the same?”
He shook his head. “Not this. If I had to go—”
“Yes, yes. It’s the point. If you had to go you’d have to go. Well, I have to go.”
“Rosalie, if I had to go I could go. A man can.”
She cried, “But, Harry, that—This isn’t us talking at all. You mean a man can leave his home because his home can go on without him. But our home—it’s just the same for me in our home. We’ve made it like that. It runs itself. The kitchen—I don’t know when I last gave an order. The children—there’s never a word. The thing’s organised. I’m an organiser.” She laughed, “Dear, that’s why they’re sending me. Isn’t it organised?”
He assented, but with an inflexion on the word “It’s—organised.”
She did not attend the inflexion. “Well, that’s no organisation that can’t, in necessity, run by itself. This can. You know, quite well, this will. You know, quite well, that you will not be put about a jot.”
“Oh, I know that,” he said.