“I’m not hungry!”
“But you must, Lance! Please! It would look so queer.”
“A glass of milk,” he said, “and a piece of apple pie, then!”
The waiter was astounded and offended at this plebeian order; he had, nevertheless, to go and fetch it and they were able to talk again.
“What makes you unhappy, Claudine?” he asked.
“I suppose I ought to bear it, and say nothing, but I can’t any longer. Lance ...! I want to leave Gilbert!”
This time she had certainly shaken his scientific calm.
“What!” he said. “After three months!”
“I wish I could tell you.... But I could never make anyone understand. It’s just—unendurable.”