Tick, tick, the not uneloquent knitting needles.
“Will you tell me, Miss Eunice? You said something about love as it comes to women, as it seems to them. I had never thought about it, about that side of it, from that side.”
“I dare say not.”
Tick, tick, tick.
“You said it must always be strange. I suppose, that is, it's like a discovery, as if nobody ever made it before. Well, but, Miss Eunice, they never did make it before, not that one!”
“Oh, indeed!”
“Don't you think I'm coming on?”
“You are progressing.”
Miss Eunice's lips were compressed a little grimly, but there was a red spot in either cheek.
“I ought to act as if I didn't see how she was possible, ought I?”