“Not again. Somebody will write.”
She tapped the wooden arms of her chair impatiently.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “you’re the most lukewarm of lovers! I’ve no patience with you!”
“Can’t be helped,” he exclaimed, polishing laboriously.
“It can. Don’t you see that it’s nothing short of unfeeling to show no anxiety when—when your Claudia has nearly brought herself and her career to an end?”
“She’s all right. Besides, my Claudia, as you call her, isn’t mine at all, and doesn’t mean to have anything to do with me.”
“Only because you’re so wrong-headed. Didn’t I advise you to keep quiet?”
“Yes.”
“And now I advise you to move. And you do just the contrary.”
He had his back turned to her.