“That’s because they’re so delightful.”
Osmond rested his head against the back of his chair and looked at his companion with a cynical directness which seemed also partly an expression of fatigue. “You do aggravate me,” he remarked in a moment. “I’m very tired.”
“Eh moi donc!” cried Madame Merle.
“With you it’s because you fatigue yourself. With me it’s not my own fault.”
“When I fatigue myself it’s for you. I’ve given you an interest. That’s a great gift.”
“Do you call it an interest?” Osmond enquired with detachment.
“Certainly, since it helps you to pass your time.”
“The time has never seemed longer to me than this winter.”
“You’ve never looked better; you’ve never been so agreeable, so brilliant.”
“Damn my brilliancy!” he thoughtfully murmured. “How little, after all, you know me!”