"Oh, he never writes."
Indiana heaved a deep sigh of intelligence. "There's one perfectly clear rule: never let out of your sight a man who doesn't write."
"I know. That's why I stayed with him—those few weeks last summer…."
Indiana sat thinking, her fine shallow eyes fixed unblinkingly on her friend's embarrassed face.
"I suppose there isn't anybody else—?"
"Anybody—?"
"Well—now you've got your divorce: anybody else it would come in handy for?"
This was harder to bear than anything that had gone before: Undine could not have borne it if she had not had a purpose. "Mr. Van Degen owes it to me—" she began with an air of wounded dignity.
"Yes, yes: I know. But that's just talk. If there IS anybody else—"
"I can't imagine what you think of me, Indiana!"