“My word, I envy you! I wish I was reading Eden Walls for the first time—or Ploughed Fields. I don’t care so much about The Resting-place.” She laughed. “At least—one’s not supposed to care about The Resting-place, you know. It’s as much as one’s life’s worth—one’s literary life.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Sentimental. Anita says so. She says she doesn’t know what happened to her over The Resting-place.”
“I like the title,” I said.
“Yes, so do I. And I love the opening where——Oh, but you haven’t read it. And you’re Anita’s cousin! What a comedy! Just like Anita, though, not to speak of her.”
“Why? Doesn’t Anita like her?”
The Baxter girl was flat on the cushions again. She looked at me with those furtive eyes that always so strangely qualified her garrulity.
“Are you shrewd? Or was that chance?”
“What?”
“‘Doesn’t Anita like her?’”