‘Was?’
He seemed to be offering a far from unwelcome sympathy.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I wouldn’t have you tell her for the world. But we’ve drifted away from each other.’
‘Yes? I fancied so.’
‘I suppose it’s this religion of hers,’ said Sheila. ‘Of course I don’t care a rap what she believes, but she’s grown so ... so remote.’
‘I agree with you entirely. I’m glad she hasn’t converted you anyhow. My friend Bunny is doomed, I fear. Hypatia begs the whole question. If matter is only an appearance it is none the less real to our minds: it exists mentally. The whole philosophy is nothing but a silly quibble about terms.’
‘How is your book getting on?’ asked Sheila.
‘Slowly, but it is getting on. Writing a hundred thousand words is a great labour. The mere pen-pushing alone is a bore.’
‘It must be. Couldn’t you dictate it?’
‘That would be difficult for me and very dull for the unfortunate secretary. I’m afraid I should be too self-conscious to work well.’