Shake your head. “It’s just another of my worries. I do like Bob. I love Bob. He’s such a child.”
She giggles. “Well, I wish he could hear you.”
“Yes, isn’t it funny? We go around feeling paternal about each other and you lie there and laugh at both of us. Let’s not talk about him any more. I’m not a sub rosa visitor yet; I haven’t any right to talk. Where’s Betty?”
“I sent her out to the Park for the afternoon.” She looks out of the window. “We’ve had such wretched weather until today. She’ll be heartbroken when she finds out you were here. Now that the family’s all discussed and taken care of, tell me how you are. Have you been doing anything wicked lately? Tell me some gossip about the younger generation.”
“What do I know about the younger generation? I haven’t been playing around. It’s queer restless weather. I’ve been trying to write. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed this air. There’s something in it. Even you must have noticed. It isn’t exactly wild. Spiritually provocative, I think—whatever that means.”
“Why shouldn’t I have noticed it?” she asks.
“You!” you cry bitterly. “A sublimely wise person like you? Alice dearest, why should you have noticed it? Or if you did, why should you admit it?”
She raised her eyebrows, somewhat surprised. “You sound angry,” is all she says. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m in a bad temper.”
“You really are,” she says wonderingly. “I’ve never seen you like this. Won’t you tell me what’s the matter?”