"Why not?"
"Well—wouldn't, then."
"But I urge you to go—want you to go! I can't possibly leave Paris, not for a day—at present."
"I shan't go without you," said Adelaide, trying hard to make her tone firm and final.
Dory leaned across the table toward her—they were in the garden of a cafe in the Latin Quarter. "If you don't go, Del," said he, "you'll make me feel that I am restraining you in a way far meaner than a direct request not to go. You want to go. I want you to go. There is no reason why you shouldn't."
Adelaide smiled shamefacedly. "You honestly want to get rid of me?"
"Honestly. I'd feel like a jailer, if you didn't go."
"What'll you do in the evenings?"
"Work later, dine later, go to bed and get up earlier."
"Work—always work," she said. She sighed, not wholly insincerely. "I wish I weren't so idle and aimless. If I were the woman I ought to be—"