“Would it suit you?”
She bent her head and was silent. I repeated the question with more insistence.
“Would it suit you, Regina?”
“There’s no question of suiting me. I’ve got myself where I can’t be”—she smiled, a twitching, nervous smile—“where I can’t be suited.”
“Do you mean that you’d come with me—when you wouldn’t want to?”
“Something like that.”
“Why should you?”
“I’ve told you that. I’ve—I’ve let you see it—in what I’ve been doing for the past two years.”
“So that I’m absolutely master?”
“That’s it.”