She replies, as grave as he, as one debating a matter that is weighty but that is before the arbitrament, not of feeling, but of reason, “Harry, you have a home.”
A gesture of his head, much comprehensive, is made by him: “Is this a home?”
“It’s where we live.”
“Ah, where we live, Rosalie!”
She did not reply to this. Himself, and not she, spoke next; but his note was as though she had answered and he were speaking in his turn. “I have a right to a home. The children have a right to a home.”
She said, “Then, Harry, give yourself a home. Give the children a home.”
He said, “Rosalie, I am a man.”
She answered, “Harry, I am a woman.”
Harry was smoking and he indrew an inhalation from his pipe with a long sibilant sound: her answer was very well understood by him.
No, she never had anticipated this.