“Everything is so different in New York,” she answered.
“Because of Frances?”
She was not sure enough herself to answer that. She did not wish to be unfair. He removed his hands from her shoulders and stood back a little.
“I thought you’d understand about her. I thought you were the one woman in the world who’d understand.”
She looked up quickly.
“Perhaps it’s easier for men to understand those things than women,” she said.
“There’s so little to understand.”
As he spoke, truly it seemed so. But it was always that way when she was with him. Always, if she was not very careful, he made her see exactly as he saw. It was so at Jacques’; it was so at Coney. But her whole life was at stake now. If she made a mistake, one way or the other, she must live it out––in New York. She must be by herself when she reached her decision.
“In the morning,” she gasped.