"Shall I go away and wait for the letter?" he asked, feeling that tea and toast would have done well enough.
"No. Don't be silly!" she said.
Now that the flush had died from her face he saw that it was paler and thinner. She saw in him a curious hardness. It was one of those moments when the light of life has gone out and there is nothing to be said that is not futile and nothing to be done that is of any use.
"It's a new car!" she said. "Yours?"
"Yes," he answered.
She wore a silky, soft-brown, holland-colored dress and a white hat with some black velvet about it and a dark rose. A wine-colored scarf fluttered about her, and in spite of her paleness and thinness she was more beautiful than ever and far more dear.
"Do you like the car?" he added, stupidly.
"Very much," she said, without so much as glancing at it. She looked up. "Well, what are we going to do?" she asked, almost crossly.
"Whatever you like."