Or possibly she would have obstinately asserted there was no occasion to introduce the word Love at all—and it was no one’s Heart’s Desire she wanted, but just a common-sense, reasonable amount of pleasure for all, and a spring-cleaning of all the gloomy, wooden faces.
In the sitting-room at Bloomsbury she threw her hat down on the sofa, and ran her fingers through her hair with an almost petulant air.
“I just feel tonight as if it was a rotten old world after all,” she said.
Dudley, sitting poring over some plans with a reading-lamp, looked up in mild surprise.
“And what has made you feel all that?—not Basil, I’m sure.”
“Well, there’s no occasion to be so very sure. I think it’s decidedly rotten where Basil is concerned.”
She came and half-sat on one of the arms of his chair, and rested her hand on his coat-collar.
“I wonder what G would think of a sane man spending his evening ruling pointless-looking lines on a big sheet of paper?”
“And who may ‘G’ be?”
“I hardly know—except that she’s the quaintest person I’ve ever struck yet—and I’ve seen some funny ones.”