“How do you know?” Roland asked.
“They are always quarreling. I never saw such a couple for it. If there’s a discussion he’s only got to take one side for her to take the other.”
“Well, I don’t see very well how she could be in love with him, he’s such a....” Roland paused, realizing that it would be hardly good manners to disparage Muriel’s uncle. But she did not intend him to leave the sentence unfinished.
“Yes,” she said, “such a.... Go on!”
“But I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t; really I didn’t. I’m sure your uncle’s awfully nice, but he’s so much older, and you can’t be in love with someone so much older than yourself.”
“I see; you’re forgiven”; then after a pause and with a mischievous smile: “Have you ever been in love, Roland?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, how lovely!” and she turned quickly and sat facing him, her knees drawn up, her hands clasped in front of them. “Now tell me all about it. I’ve always wanted to have a talk with someone who’s really been in love, and I never have.”