“Oh my God!” cried Elaine. “Am I wasted because I choose to set my heart on a child, instead of a man? What a little you know!”
II
Wilfred raised his eyes from the typewritten sheets to ask sharply: “Are you listening Fanny?”
“Why of course!” she said, looking across in surprise.
“You seemed so intent on your stocking.”
“That’s automatic. My ears are yours. Go on.”
Five minutes later, Wilfred turned over the last sheet. He tipped the tin shade of the lamp in order to direct the light more fully on Frances Mary’s side of the table; and reached for his pipe. “That’s about all I can do to that,” he said, with an after gleam of pleasure in his eye.
“There are beautiful things in it,” said Frances Mary.
Wilfred was pulled up all standing. “Things?” he said, looking across at her, flicked on the raw. “Then you don’t think . . . ?”
“Something wrong,” she said, avoiding his glance; thoughtfully biting the darning needle.