Both were extremely well satisfied with the course of the conversation. Both wished that the interview might last for indefinite hours, for they had slipped, as into a socket, into the supreme topic, and into intimacy. They were happy and they knew it. The egotism of each tingled sensitively with eager joy. They felt that this was 'life,' one of the justifications of existence.
She shook her head slowly.
'Yes,' he continued, 'it's you who stay quietly at home that are to be envied.'
'And you, a free bachelor, say that! Why, I should have thought——'
'That's just it. You're quite wrong, if you'll let me say so. Here am I, a free bachelor, as you call it. Can do what I like. Go where I like. And yet I would sell my soul for a home like this. Something ... you know. No, you don't. People say that women understand men and what men feel, but they can't—they can't.'
'No,' said Leonora seriously, 'I don't think they can—still, I have a notion of what you mean.' She spoke with modest sympathy.
'Have you?' he questioned.
She nodded. For a fraction of an instant she thought of her husband, stolid with all his impulsiveness, over at David Dain's.
'People say to me, "Why don't you get married?"' Twemlow went on, drawn by the subtle invitation of her manner. 'But how can I get married? I can't get married by taking thought. They make me tired. I ask them sometimes whether they imagine I keep single for the fun of the thing.... Do you know that I've never yet been in love—no, not the least bit.'
He presented her with this fact as with a jewel, and she so accepted it.