Patiently I sighed.
"You're better," insisted Elizabeth, "even this little time away in this weird place with this extraordinary job lot of people has done you good. You will begin to forget soon."
Pityingly I smiled at her.
"Harry," I told her, "is not the kind of man who gets forgotten. I wish he were. He is one of those charmers who leave their mark on a woman's life. He'd such wonderful ways. He——"
"Don't shove me into the wall," begged Elizabeth. "I feel knocked about enough as it is."
"Sorry. I wish I could make you realize, though, about Harry. He once took me to a play where the woman says: 'There are two kinds of love affairs. There are affairs—and there are just loves.' Unfortunately this is one of those."
"Oh, yes," said Elizabeth drily.
"If you'd ever had one of either," said I, nettled, "you'd know the difference."
"So that there will always be one thing that I shall never know," concluded the Man-hater, limping along.
I glanced at the small dog-tired but resolute figure in the smock that the evening sunlight was gilding from holland to cloth of gold.