“She’s not in London.”
“I don’t believe you.”
A second deadlock was reached. Finally Michael decided to give Sylvia the pleasure of supposing that he was beaten for the moment. He congratulated himself upon the cunning of such a move. She was obviously going to be rather difficult to circumvent.
On the steps of the balcony he turned to her:
“You hate me because I love Lily, and you hate me twice as much because Lily loves me.”
“It’s not true,” Sylvia declared. “It’s not true. She doesn’t love you, and what right have you to love her?”
She tossed back her mane of brown hair, biting her nails.
“What college was your husband at?” Michael suddenly inquired.
“Balliol.”
“I wonder if I knew him.”