"I don't see that it's so very terrible."
"But it kills me dead. I feel all the time you think I'm masquerading. I feel like a figure with a mask in a carnival. I meet you in another mask. I say, 'Take it off,' and you won't. You shrivel up."
"I don't know who you're getting angry with," said Jenny. "I haven't said nothing."
"Nothing!" cried Maurice. "It's nothing to tell somebody who adores you—good heavens, it's raining now! Of course it would rain in the middle of grappling with a situation. What a damnable climate this is!"
"I'm glad you're going to quarrel with the weather a bit for a change," said Jenny. "I think you're in a very nasty mood."
"You don't understand me," said Maurice.
"I don't want to." She spoke coldly.
"Jenny, I'm sorry I said that. Darling girl, do forgive me."
The wind had risen to half a gale. Heath Street was full of people hurrying to shelter, and the entrance to the Tube station was crowded.
"Don't be angry with me," Maurice whispered as the lift stopped. "I was tired and foolish. Jenny, I'm sorry."