“Oh! Good. That’s all I wanted to know.”
“I see what you mean quite well,” she said, walking up and down the room. “You think I lead a useless life—that I’m not accomplished or literary or even domestic, or social. You think I lead an empty life with all my money.”
“Well, why shouldn’t you, if you like it? But I wish you enjoyed it yourself more, that’s the point.”
“I can never enjoy myself—if you want to know, Nigel—except when I’m with you; and even then I’m often not happy, because I think you don’t care to be with me.”
“Oh, Mary! really! How awful you are! What rot all this is! I can’t say more than that you can do whatever you like from morning to night, and that I don’t wish to interfere with you in any possible way.”
“But I should like you to be with me more.”
He restrained the obvious retort (that she didn’t make herself agreeable).
“Well, I am with you.” He humoured her gently.
“Yes—at this moment.”
“Aren’t we going to dine together?”