"Oh, she's a rare good sort, Marie! I don't want to drop her, but somehow I've got out of the way of seeing so much of her. You know what I mean? I don't go where she does, and she doesn't go much where I do."
"But you could make efforts—more lunches, for instance," she suggested.
"Oh, yes, I could—sometimes I do. But—well, it's just that the course of my life has become different."
"I'm afraid the course of your life means me to a certain extent."
He laughed. "You began it, of course, when you came to Bloomsbury Street. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember all right. But I don't want you to lose your friends through me." Again she glanced at him in hesitation, but this time she spoke. "You may find me a broken reed, after all, Cousin Arthur."
He smoked for a moment, then laid down his pipe. "I'm fond of you all," he said. "You know how well Godfrey and I get on. I've made friends with Judith, and I'm making friends with Margaret. And—we're too good pals to say much—but you know what you are to me, Bernadette."
"Yes, I know, Cousin Arthur."
"So I don't know what you mean by talking about broken reeds."
She gave a little sigh, but said no more for the moment. She seemed to be on another tack when she spoke again. "It's a wonderful thing to be alive, isn't it? I don't mean just to breathe and eat and sleep, but to be alive really—to—to tingle!"