Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love.”
“You can’t be that,” said Ann Veronica, wisely.
“How do you know?”
“Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?”
“YOU don’t know.”
“One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly.
“Oh, theories! Being in love is a fact.”
“It ought to make one happy.”
“It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. “Parmesan—take it away!”
He glanced at Ann Veronica’s face, and it seemed to him that she really was exceptionally radiant. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. He filled her glass with champagne. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression.”