He nodded. “Dad’s there now. I’ve got an old horse that I broke in myself; he’s still up there.” He took his arm away to light his pipe again, then put it back and squeezed her under the arm with his hand. As if he didn’t notice.... “When I go back he always knows me. I taught him to dance: I used to have ideas about taking him on the stage. He sure was a pretty pony. Getting old now.”
She was drowsy from looking so long at the fire. There was nothing to say anyway. Harvey had told all the stories that you tell people you’ve just met; they knew each other too well to have any conversation. Unless they talked about philosophy, and he didn’t like to do that. He always said she thought too much, probably because he didn’t want to bother about thinking. She yawned; he went on smoking. The room was getting warm and pleasantly stuffy.
When his pipe was finished he knocked it out on the edge of the fireplace and put both arms around her. They kissed, and he hugged her tighter and tighter and then, just as their lips separated, he tried to make her lie down.
“No,” she said uneasily, and pushed him away. He stopped and she felt ridiculously stiff and upright. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees.
“What’s the matter with you tonight?” he asked, not unreasonably. She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to explain this sensation of wariness. Two or three times before she had spent the whole evening lying with him on the couch, fondling more or less innocuously. She felt now—she didn’t say it even to herself, but she felt that it was time for something more to happen. She had been brought up in the belief that it was up to her, as the control element in the game, to keep a watchful eye on developments and to manage when it came to necking. They started it and did their best to let it run its own course. They deliberately forgot what they were doing. And then if anything definite happened, everybody knew they always felt sorry and wished it hadn’t happened. So it was up to her to remember.
“Well?” said Harvey.
“I don’t feel like it,” she said.
“Sure you do. Come on.” He pulled her down and she lay next to him rigid and watchful. He kissed her again.
“God, you’re cold tonight.”
“Well, I told you.”