Marian was lovely, he thought, sick with an unrecognized desire for loveliness. She wore a toque of white fur that fitted close to her small head, and there were white furs over her shoulders. She was a little thinner than before her marriage, and her delicate features were as clear and fine as those of a silver goddess on some Syracusan coin.
They all three sat down and talked, somehow.
“Well, where have you been this time, Stacey?” Marian asked gaily. “Fighting more dragons? Doing dozens of herculean tasks—Augean stables, hydras, taking Atlas’ place for a time?” She gave him a malicious smile.
Clearly Marian was as hostile as ever. No matter! On the contrary, he was instinctively glad of her hostility. It revealed warmth.
Oddly enough, it was Catherine who flushed at it. Stacey noted the flush with surprise. Oh, well, everything was odd! There was no use in trying to clear it up. It was also incomprehensible that, feeling as he was feeling toward Marian, he should not impatiently desire to have Catherine go away and leave them together. Yet he desired nothing of the sort.
“No,” he replied peaceably to Marian, “I’ve merely been boring myself to extinction in a stupid world. Any time that Atlas wants to let the sky fall on it he may, so far as I’m concerned. But,” he added, “it’s gratifying to have you make all your metaphors Greek, Marian.”
She bit her lip at this, and her eyes shone dangerously for an instant. But presently she smiled again.
Stacey turned to Catherine. “How are all of you?” he inquired.
“Not very brilliant, I’m afraid,” she said, a trifle wearily. “We’ve all got colds—all except Carter, who’s still at school now. I’ve got a cold, Phil’s got a bad cold, and Jackie’s got a horrid cold.”
“Poor old chap! Where is he?”