"Poverty and glitter; cabs in the streets and jewels at the opera; and everybody wondering how on earth to make both ends meet. Money that didn't buy what it ought to buy. Plenty of misery going on in each corner, and plenty of noise and fuss. The same old contradictions everywhere."
Patricia frowned.
"Worse than here?"
"I couldn't tell. I was busy, and depressed. The men I met were wretched; and I saw the gaiety only in passing. Very much the same, I expect."
"Hm." She made no comment; but she had become grave. "D'you think everybody's mad? I do."
"Perhaps they always are. Perhaps we are."
"Sometimes I feel I shall go mad." There was a discouraged note in Patricia's voice which confirmed Edgar's intuition. She was obviously not in a normal mood; although he had seen her laughing with her partners earlier in the evening.
"Let's dance," he suggested. "Postpone the madness."
"I think," said Patricia, slowly, and as if she were being strangled by some unexpressed emotion, "that ... you're only afraid because ... you think I'm a child to be petted out of...."
She allowed him to make her dance; but she did not respond to him, and there were tears in Patricia's eyes. Edgar did not speak while they danced. Almost, he did not look at her. He was too much disconcerted, too preoccupied with an effort to explain Patricia's mood. Yet to Patricia he appeared immovable.