His lips were very close; and still Patricia delayed, not excited, but welcoming, half-smiling, half-afraid. She was shy. She had not been shy with Harry or with Monty. But she was shy with Edgar. From him a kiss seemed almost ceremonial. And as she thought that, Patricia blushed.
"Don't let's go to the Stephenses'," she said, breathlessly, her head lowered. "I know why you want me to go there. Do you want babies so much, Edgar? More than you want me? You see, I'm ... I know I'm conceited and horrible ... but it's because I feel so worthless." Lower and lower sank her head, to his breast, and she was held close to Edgar's heart. "Funny heart, to beat," she said. "You do love me, don't you.... Really love me...."
"Really," he swore. "All my heart."
"And you think I'm an idiot."
"Yes."
Patricia hit her lover a sharp blow of exasperation.
"And you don't think I'm wonderful."
"No."
She sat upright again, still within the circle of his arm.
"Has your car got a name?" she asked.