“There?”
“In some such place, I mean. One might do worse, don’t you think so? There must be at least two centuries of solitude under those yew-trees. Shouldn’t you like it?”
“I—I don’t know,” she faltered. She knew now that he meant to speak.
He lit another cigarette. “We shall have to live somewhere, you know,” he said as he bent above the match.
Lydia tried to speak carelessly. “Je n’en vois pas la nécessité! Why not live everywhere, as we have been doing?”
“But we can’t travel forever, can we?”
“Oh, forever’s a long word,” she objected, picking up the review he had thrown aside.
“For the rest of our lives then,” he said, moving nearer.
She made a slight gesture which caused his hand to slip from hers.
“Why should we make plans? I thought you agreed with me that it’s pleasanter to drift.”