He got in beside her and set the car going. Maggy had been holding him at arm's length all the afternoon. He was getting a little tired of the pursuit and intended it should end. He could not associate Maggy with protracted virtue. If she persisted in this pose—for he thought it was a pose—he would lose interest in her. He had told her as much at lunch.
"Oh, rubbish!" Maggy had responded, munching at a pear that only a rich man could afford to buy out of season. "Courting's a change for you."
"It's too much trouble. In business I work hard. I know what I want and I go on till I get it. With women I don't want hard work. Besides, unripe fruit is sour. It's best when it's ready to fall."
"Then you've come under the wrong tree," she said cheekily.
But she knew that the fruit was trembling on its stem—ripe.
"About this flat," she said, when they were on their way, "are you thinking of moving?"
"No."
Woolf turned and looked at her intently. She could not face the searching in his eyes; she blushed and was angry with herself.
"I don't see what you want my opinion for, anyway," she said, to cover her confusion.
"It's funny, but I do."