"Why, of course, if you want to talk to Nadine, we'll go," she said.
Bertie gave a long sigh.
"I shall lie here," he said, "like the frog-footman on and off for days and days—"
"So long as you lie off now," said Hugh.
Bertie got up.
"You can all come to my room if you like," he said, "as long as you don't mind my going to bed. Good-night, Nadine; thanks awfully for letting me lie down. It has made me quite sleepy."
Hugh Graves went to the window as soon as they had gone and threw it open.
"The room smells of smoke and stale epigrams," he said in explanation.
"That's not very polite, Hugh," said she, "since I have been talking most, and not smoking least. But I suppose you will answer that you didn't come here to be polite."
In a moment, even as the physical atmosphere of the room altered, so also did the spiritual. It seemed to Nadine that she and Hugh took hands and sailed through the surface foam and brightnesses in which they had been playing into some place which they had made for themselves, which was dim and sub-aqueous. The foam and brightness was all perfectly sincere, for she was never other than sincere, but it had no more than the sincerity of soap-bubbles.