"But I thought you were so comfortable——"
"Too soft. You don't know—" Margaret was serious. "I can't be babied all my life. All sorts of infantile traits sticking to me. You got away."
"Mother said you'd been reading a foreigner named Freud."
"Well!" Margaret was vigorously defensive. "What of it?"
Catherine dug her fork into the triangle of cake.
"I thought Freud was going out. Glands are the latest."
"I bet Charles said that." Margaret grinned impishly as she saw her thrust strike home. "Well, tell him I'm still on Freud. Anyway, I want to try this. Amy and I want to live together. When you wanted to live with Charles, you went and did it, didn't you?"
"I'm not criticizing you, Marge. Go ahead! Don't bristle so, or I'll suspect you feel guilty."
"I do." Margaret had a funny little smile which recognized herself as ludicrous. "That's just the vestige of my conflict."