"I'm not interested, Fanny. You know how I hate vaudeville."
"I love it."
"That's your privilege."
"Don't be sarcastic, Aubrey."
"I'm not. I'm just tired."
"Tired? What have you been doing?"
Despite herself she accented the you. The memory of Schroder and their day together had left her. It persisted, however, as a curious elation. The ambiguity of words exhilarated her. She felt a sense of mastery. She wanted also to be tender toward Aubrey, to please and charm him. It was necessary to do this in order to disarm him. But he had no suspicions. She was certain of that. Nevertheless it was necessary to make sure he had none. There were many paradoxical things necessary and most curious of them all was the necessity of showing Aubrey that she loved him. Her heart warmed toward him as it hadn't for years. She felt unaccountably grateful to Aubrey. She would have liked to sit at his side whispering love names and caressing his hair.
"Well, for one thing, I've been writing."
He looked at her calmly.
"Writing? You mean books? Why, I didn't know!"