“It’s spoiling him,” she said. “It will make a mess of him. Why! he may think that is love, that!—slinking off to a studio. The nastiness! And she’s had a dozen lovers. She’s a common thing. She just strips herself here and shows her arms and shoulders because she’s—just that.”
“She’s really in love with him anyhow,” said Adela. “She’s gone on him. It’s amusing.”
“Love! That—love! It makes me sick to think of it,” said Joan.
“A man isn’t made like that,” said Adela. “Peter has to go his own way.”
“Peter,” said Joan, “who used to be the cleanest thing alive.”
“Good sisters always feel like that,” said Adela. “I know how shocked I was when first I heard of Teddy.... It isn’t the same thing to men, Joan. It isn’t indeed....”
“Dirty Peter,” said Joan with intense conviction. “Of course I’ve known. Of course I’ve known. Any one could see. Only I wouldn’t know.”
She thrust the striped red stuff for her Indian dress from her.
“I shan’t be Indian Nationalism, Adela, after all. Somehow I don’t care to be. Why should I cover myself up in this way?”
“You’d look jolly.”