“Wouldn’t you enjoy going there again?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe that I should. You see I went to Berlin both times with my husband, and my present state of mind is such that if I think Berlin will recall my husband to me, I’d rather remain permanently in Cherbourg.”
She stooped and gathered up her rugs preparatory to building a new nest.
“Did you travel much with your husband,” he asked, taking the nest materials from her and sorting them over his arm.
“Yes, I did.” She sat down in the chair. “I travelled a great deal with him; but I intend to travel a great deal more now that I’m without him.”
The man was busy with her cloak and pillows and rugs. They were quite a combination, and the combining was rather a dangerous occupation, the lateness of the hour considered. He lost his head just a little bit.
“You might some day have another,” he suggested in a tone low enough to be thrilling to the thrillable.
Rosina squared herself smilelessly, and the electric deck-light which faced her seat showed up her sobriety in unmistakable colors.
“Watch me!” she said briefly, and her enunciation was clear and very distinct.
He heard.