Violet held up a forefinger warningly.
“Now you know that is one of the things you are not allowed to say. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“For how many years did you say you had been completely happy?”
“Twenty-three and a half.”
Violet flicked the warm sea-scented air with the end of her towel.
“Well, then, I should be ashamed, Maud, I should be ashamed, especially when you know you are beginning to be happy again.”
“That’s your doing.”
“We are talking about you, not me”—Violet’s voice came out of the middle of the towel—“and you’ll please keep to the subject. Just fancy my ever being good for anybody. How funny it seems!”
Maud lay back on her rug tilting her hat over her eyes.