“But a lot of them do,” he answered.
“And they are the kind that just stay. I hate that kind. I hate people who just stay. That’s why I hate myself sometimes.”
He looked up at her quickly. It was the first indication he had that she was not continually in an unbroken state of calm content. He caught her brown eyes grown suddenly full, as if they themselves had been startled by the unexpected exclamation.
“What’s that you said?” he demanded.
She tried to laugh, but she was still too disconcerted to make it a successful effort. She was not often goaded into as intimate a confession as this.
“It isn’t worth repeating,” she answered uneasily.
“You said you hated yourself sometimes.”
“The steak is very, very good,” she answered, smiling.
“Then you aren’t hating yourself now?”