"Love must be blind—is that the idea? Couldn't that be got over? One uses blinkers, you know, in double harness. I never dream, Alwynne, normally. Must I eat lobster salad every night?"
"There—you see!" Alwynne waved her hand complacently. "You're just as bad. You couldn't talk like that if——"
"If what?"
"Nothing!"
"If what?"
Alwynne looked at him.
"If what, Alwynne?" Roger's tone was a little stern.
She had taken a rose from the bowl at her elbow, and was slowly pulling off the petals. Her eyes were on her work.
He waited.
Her hands cupped the little pile of rose-leaves. She buried her face in them—watching him an instant, through her fingers.