“Hardly imaginative,” he said, after a pause, as if for consideration.
“If she isn’t imaginative, what on earth do you find to talk about?” asked Frances Mary.
Wilfred thought of venturing a laugh; decided against it. He shot a glance at Frances Mary through his lashes. She was no longer looking at him. The line of her averted face suggested the same agonized self-consciousness that he felt. Of course, he thought, I am giving everything away, and she feels for me. She has guessed everything. Why not be open with her? He trembled with a horrible internal weakness. No! he thought desperately. If I let a single word out, I should go completely to pieces. Make a disgusting exhibition of myself; this thing’s got to be clamped down. . . .
“Oh, she likes me to explain her to herself,” he said lightly.
Frances Mary let the subject drop.
VI
“This only drives me crazy!” said Joe, suddenly rising. “. . . It maddens me!”
Elaine huddled in the big chair, turned sideways and dropped her face on her outstretched arm. “You’re not so crazy but you’re able to stop!” she murmured resentfully.
Joe helped himself to a cigarette from the mantel. “The servants already suspect,” he said.
“What makes you think so?”