An absurd idea came to her of their two souls, sitting side by side, in rocking chairs, absorbed in the contemplation of life; she saw these souls as pliable white things, like half-melted candles, with great black eyes. It made her laugh aloud.
“What’s the joke?” asked Gilbert.
“Only the silliest sort of fancy,” she said, in a comfortable tone that didn’t irritate him. He didn’t ask again, because he didn’t care. His desire had been always to be understood, never to understand others. And any woman who could sit in the dusk by him while he smoked, who talked so little, who made a julep like that, undoubtedly understood him. He was content.
