‘Yes?’
‘The separation had lasted for the best part of a year, because I didn’t go home for the long summer holiday: Auntie came here instead. And during that time we’d both developed, he and I.’
‘He was more Kayesque than ever?’
Sheila flinched.
‘Oh, don’t remind me of that detestable invention of mine,’ she begged.... ‘He’d changed—oh, incredibly! Even his appearance. There were still wonderful moments—sometimes when the light fell on his hair ... and he was slightly freckled, you know,’ she added.
‘But he was changed.’
‘He was just like his letters. And when he was saying certain things—stuffy things—he even looked like his letters.’
‘And the mute poetry?’ asked Hypatia presently.
Sheila stared miserably at her own feet.
‘I don’t know what became of that,’ she confessed. ‘It was there, you know,’ she added, seeing a gentle incredulous smile flit over her friend’s face. ‘Hypatia, it was, really. I saw it.’