The deadlock had been reached, and they sat there on either side of the fire, glaring at each other.
“The extraordinary thing is,” said Michael at last, “I thought you had a sense of humor when I first met you. And another extraordinary thing is that I still like you very much. Which probably rather annoys you. But I can’t help saying it.”
“The opinions of sentimentalists don’t interest me one way or the other,” Sylvia snapped.
“Will you answer one question? Will you tell me why you were so pleasant on the evening we met?”
“I really can’t bother to go back as far as that.”
“You weren’t jealous then,” Michael persisted.
“Who says I’m jealous now?” she cried.
“I do. What do you think you are, unless you’re jealous? When is Lily coming down?”
“She isn’t coming down until you’ve gone.”
“Then I shall go and call her.”